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v/ 

THE 

THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

FOR 

THE STORY-TELLER 


BY 

FANNY E. COE 



BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
(Cfoe ifttoer#be Cambridge 



COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY FANNY E. COE V 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



/. 00 


J 

MAY 29 1918 


©CI.A497538 V ^ 


THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 
TO 

MY MOTHER 

























































FOREWORD 


Kate Douglas Wiggin says, in her spar- 
kling way: “Thrice blessed she who is rec- 
ognized at a glance as a person likely to be 
full to the brim of stories.” Probably all of 
us desire to be so equipped, but, alas, many 
of us fail the small petitioner at the crucial 
moment. The Third Book of Stories for the 
Story-Teller , like its predecessors, is designed 
to be “first aid” to third-grade teachers, to 
busy mothers, and to social workers. Here, 
under one cover, are gathered a goodly num- 
ber of stories suitable for children of third- 
grade age, drawn from many nations and 
from widely differing sources. Fairy tales, in- 
cluding folk-tales and the modern fairy tales, 
occupy a generous space. But besides these 
groups of perennial charm, there are Stories 
of Real Life in which children of this age are 
beginning to take keen interest. This theme 
of Real Life includes tales of child life, child 
heroes, adult heroes, and animals. 

Few to-day deny the importance of the 
fairy story in education. The little girl who 
said, “I want to go to the place where the 
shadows are real,” voiced a genuine need. 


VI 


FOREWORD 


As George Goschen says, in liis address on 
“The Cultivation of the Imagination”: “I 
like . . . even little children to have some 
larger food than images of their own little 
lives, and I confess I am sorry for the chil- 
dren whose imaginations are not stimulated 
by beautiful fairy tales which carry them to 
worlds different from those in which their 
future will be passed. ... I hold that what 
removes them more or less from their daily 
life is better than what reminds them of it 
at every step.” One great value of the story 
world to the child is that, if poor, he may 
have the wealth of Aladdin or Fortunatus; 
if sad, he may be gay with Snow-White and 
Rose-Red; if inarticulate, he may find him- 
self speaking with the silver tongue of Ulys- 
ses. These transient experiences of other 
moods in other lives are of incalculable bene- 
fit to him, and he returns to his own every- 
day path rested and cheered, with a higher 
heart for his own endeavor. 

Mr. Richard Thomas Wyche has said 
truly that “psychologists are telling us that 
to educate a child ... to aspire and make 
effort towards excellence, is as practicable 
as to do or to make something. It calls for 
more delicate but not different treatment; 
working not by dictation but by magnetic 


FOREWORD 


vii 


suggestion. The story-teller may render a 
great service to the individual and the com- 
munity by helping to form right-feeling 
habit.” Literature is a potent means by 
which children may be helped to finer en- 
deavor. Didactic instruction, winding up 
with such phrases as “ Be good ” ; “ Be thought- 
ful for others,” they accept with cold, even 
stern silence. But the narrative of Cinder- 
ella or the Little Hero of Haarlem, that 
voices the same appeal, leaves them aglow 
with zeal to imitate these radiant beings who 
have shown them the beauty of the dull old 
virtues in action. 

The Third Book of Stories for the Story- 
Teller is rich in moral appeal. Here are tales 
that illustrate kindness, exact obedience, 
perseverance, gratitude, courage, and devo- 
tion to duty. That bravery adorns a woman 
is shown in the superb story of “How Black 
Agnes kept her Castle.” Her gay courage 
would have delighted John Ruskin, who, re- 
versing the conventional idea, would have 
the young men to be gentle and the maidens 
brave. Love — whether parental, filial, or 
that wider love known as humanity — has 
many illustrations, notably in the beautiful 
stories by Dallas Lore Sharp, Dinah Maria 
Mulock, and Elihu Burritt. 


FOREWORD 


viii 

One form of culture is the ability to ap- 
preciate humor, to know with delicate cer- 
tainty when, and when not, to laugh. One 
of the minor aims of this series has been to 
awaken in the child a sensitive response to 
true humor. Many amusing situations in the 
old folk-tales are admirable for this purpose. 

The intellectual needs of a later day have 
also been borne in mind in choosing the se- 
lections. The art student, gazing on pic- 
tures of St. Jerome and his attendant lion, 
will instantly recall with a thrill of satis- 
faction, Miss Abbie Far well Brown’s ver- 
sion of the lovely old legend. The student 
of literature will be glad to find, packed away 
in his memory, the story of Childe Rowland 
and Burd Ellen by which he may interpret 
or at least understand the point of depar- 
ture for Shakespeare’s reference in King Lear , 
and for Browning’s poem with its haunting 
title “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower 
Came.” 

The authors represented by the selections 
in the book rank high. They are such well- 
known American and English writers as 
Howard Pyle, Dallas Lore Sharp, Abbie 
Far well Brown, David Starr Jordan, Samuel 
R. Crockett, Dinah Maria Mulock, and Ju- 
liana Horatio Ewing. 


FOREWORD 


IX 


One purpose of the compiler has been to 
offer stories that need not be adapted or 
modified when read or told. It is hoped that 
the form in which they stand will imme- 
diately appeal to the child. Because of the 
simplicity and directness of the subject- 
matter, the compiler believes that The Third 
Book of Stories for the Story-Teller could 
readily serve in the school as a supplemen- 
tary reading-book. 











» 






























* 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


The editor wishes to acknowledge permis- 
sion to reprint the following stories and tales 
courteously granted by authors and publish- 
ers : — 

“Jesper who herded the Hares.” Repro- 
duced by permission, from The Violet Fairy 
Book , Andrew Lang, Editor. Longmans , 
Green & Co. 

“How the Jellyfish lost his Bones.” After a 
Japanese tale translated by A. H. Chamber- 
lain. From The Book of Knight and Barbara , 
David Starr Jordan. D. Appleton & Co. 

“The Red Ettin.” From Mother Goose 
Nursery Tales. E. P. Dutton & Co. 

“The Water of Life.” From The Wonder 
Clock , Howard Pyle. Harper and Brothers. 

“The Husband who was to mind the 
House.” From East of the Sun and West of 
the Moon , Gudrun Thorne-Thomsen. Row , 
Peterson & Co. 

“Childe Rowland.” From English Fairy 
Tales , Joseph Jacobs. G. P. Putnam's Sons. 

“Saint Jerome and the Lion.” From The 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


xii 

Book of Saints and Friendly Beasts , Abbie 
Farwell Brown. Houghton Mifflin Company . 

“The Knights of the Silver Shield. 55 From 
Why the Chimes Rang , Raymond Macdonald 
Alden. The Bobbs- Merrill Company . 

“The Ogre that played Jackstraws.” From 
The Book of Knight and Barbara , David Starr 
Jordan. D. Appleton & Co . 

“The Christmas Angel,” by Rossiter W. 
Raymond. 

“Agnese and her Fruit-Stand.” From The 
Five Senses, Angela M. Keyes. Published 
and copyrighted by Moffat , Yard & Co . 

“Hugh John and the Scots Greys.” From 
Sir Toady Lion, Samuel R. Crockett. A . P. 
Watt and Son . 

“ How Black Agnes kept her Castle.” From 
Stories of Scotland in Days of Old, Dorothy 
King. T. C. & E . C . Jack. 

“The Mother Murre,” From Where Rolls 
the Oregon, Dallas Lore Sharp. Houghton 
Mifflin Company. 


CONTENTS 

FOLK-TALES 


Jesper who herded the Hares Andrew Lang 1 

How the Jellyfish lost his Bones 


After a Japanese tale , translated by A. H. Chamberlain 

17 

The Red Ettin 

“ Mother Goose ” 

23 

The Water of Life 

Howard Pyle 

35 

The Husband who was 

to mind the House 



Gudrun Thome-Thomsen 

47 

Childe Rowland 

Joseph Jacobs 

50 


A LEGEND OF THE MIDDLE AGES 

Saint Jerome and the Lion Abbie Farwell Brown 
Leo becomes a Brother 
The Trial of Leo 

MODERN FAIRY TALES 

The Knights of the Silver Shield 

Raymond Macdonald Alden 74 

Timothy’s Shoes Juliana Horatio Ewing 86 

The Ogre that played Jackstraws 

David Starr Jordan 101 


60 

60 

67 


XIV 


CONTENTS 


Arndt’s Night Underground 

Dinah Maria Mulock 

105 

The Christmas Angel 

Rossiter W . Raymond 

117 

STORIES FROM REAL LIFE 


Signs of Baby 


Anonymous 

127 

Agnese and her Fruit-Stand 


Angela M. Keyes 

130 

Perseverance wins 


Anonymous 

141 

Hugh John and the Scots Greys 

S. R. Crockett 

147 

Brotherhood of Long Ago 


Fanny E. Coe 

151 

The Dutch Boor and his Horse 

Elihu Burritt 

154 

How Black Agnes kept her Castle Dorothy King 

157 

The Mother Murre 


Dallas Lore Sharp 

169 

KEY TO PRONUNCIATION 



175 

PROPER NAMES 



175 


THE 

THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 
FOR THE STORY-TELLER 


FOLK-TALES 

JESPER WHO HERDED THE HARES 

There was once a king who ruled over a 
kingdom somewhere between sunrise and sun- 
set. It was as small as kingdoms usually were 
in old times, and when the King went up to 
the roof of his palace and took a look round, 
he could see to the ends of it in every direc- 
tion. But as it was all his own, he was very 
proud of it, and often wondered how it would 
get along without him. He had only one child, 
and that was a daughter, so he foresaw that 
she must be provided with a husband who 
would be fit to be king after him. Where to 
find one rich enough and clever enough to be a 
suitable match for the Princess was what 
troubled him, and often kept him awake at 
night. 

At last he devised a plan. He made a proc- 


2 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

lamation over all his kingdom (and asked his 
nearest neighbors to publish it in theirs as 
well) that whoever could bring him a dozen 
of the finest pearls the King had ever seen, 
and could perform certain tasks that would 
be set him, should have his daughter in mar- 
riage and in due time succeed to the throne. 
The pearls, he thought, could only be brought 
by a very wealthy man, and the tasks would 
require unusual talents to accomplish them. 

There were plenty who tried to fulfill the 
terms which the King proposed. Rich mer- 
chants and foreign princes presented them- 
selves one after the other, so that some days 
the number of them was quite annoying; but, 
though they all could produce magnificent 
pearls, not one of them could perform even 
the simplest of the tasks set them. Some 
turned up, too, who were mere adventurers, 
and tried to deceive the old King with imita- 
tion pearls; but he was not to be taken in so 
easily, and they were soon sent about their 
business. At the end of several weeks the 
stream of suitors began to fall off, and still 
there was no prospect of a suitable son-in-law. 

Now it so happened that in a little corner 
of the King’s dominions, beside the sea, there 
lived a poor fisher who had three sons, and 
their names were Peter, Paul, and Jesper. 


JESPER WHO HERDED THE HARES 3 


Peter and Paul were grown men, while Jesper 
was just coming to manhood. The two elder 
brothers were much bigger and stronger than 
the youngest, but Jesper was far the cleverest 
of the three, though neither Peter nor Paul 
would admit this. It was a fact, however, as 
we shall see in the course of our story. 

One day the fisherman went out fishing, 
and among his catch for the day he brought 
home three dozen oysters. When these were 
opened, every shell was found to contain a 
large and beautiful pearl. Hereupon the three 
brothers, at one and the same time, fell upon 
the idea of offering themselves as suitors for 
the Princess. After some discussion it was 
agreed that the pearls should be divided by 
lot, and that each should have his chance in 
the order of his age; of course, if the oldest 
was successful, the other two would be saved 
the trouble of trying. 

Next morning Peter put his pearls in a 
little basket, and set off for the King’s palace. 
He had not gone far on his way when he came 
upon the King of the Ants and the King of the 
Beetles, who, with their armies behind them, 
were facing each other and preparing for battle. 

“Come and help me,” said the King of the 
Ants; “the beetles are too big for us. I may 
help you some day in return.” 


4 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


“I have no time to waste on other people’s 
affairs,” said Peter; “just fight away as best 
you can.” And with that he walked off and 
left them. 

A little farther on the way he met an old 
woman. 

“Good-morning, young man,” said she; 
“you are early astir. What have you got in 
your basket?” 

“Cinders,” said Peter promptly, and 
walked on; adding to himself, “Take that for 
being so inquisitive.” 

“Very well, cinders be it,” the old woman 
called after him, but he pretended not to 
hear her. 

Very soon he reached the palace, and was 
at once brought before the King. When he 
took the cover off the basket, the King and 
all his courtiers said with one voice that these 
were the finest pearls they had ever seen, and 
they could not take their eyes off them. But 
then a strange thing happened: the pearls 
began to lose their whiteness and grew quite 
dim in color; then they grew blacker and 
blacker till at last they were just like so many 
cinders. Peter was so amazed that he could 
say nothing for himself, but the King said 
quite enough for both, and Peter was glad to 
get away home again as fast as his legs would 


JESPER WHO HERDED THE HARES 5 


carry him. To his father and brothers, how- 
ever, he gave no account of his attempt, 
except that it had been a failure. 

Next day Paul set out to try his luck. He 
soon came upon the King of the Ants and 
the King of the Beetles, who with their arm- 
ies had encamped on the field of battle all 
night, and were ready to begin the fight 
again. 

“ Come and help me,” said the King of the 
Ants; “we got the worst of it yesterday. I 
may help you some day in return.” 

“I don’t care though you get the worst of 
it to-day too,” said Paul. “I have more im- 
portant business on hand than mixing my- 
self up in your quarrels.” 

So he walked on, and presently the same 
old woman met him. 

“Good-morning,” said she; “what have 
you got in your basket?” 

“Cinders,” said Paul, who was quite as 
insolent as his brother, and quite as anxious 
to teach other people good manners. 

“Very well, cinders be it,” the old woman 
shouted after him. 

But Paul neither looked back nor an- 
swered her. He thought more of what she 
said, however, after his pearls also turned to 
cinders before the eyes of King and court; 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


then he lost no time in getting home again, 
and was very sulky when asked how he had 
succeeded. 

The third day came, and with it came 
Jesper’s turn to try his fortune. He got up 
and had his breakfast, while Peter and Paul 
lay in bed and made rude remarks, telling 
him that he would come back quicker than 
he went, for if they had failed it could not be 
supposed that he would succeed. Jesper 
made no reply, but put his pearls in the little 
basket and walked off. 

The King of the Ants and the King of the 
Beetles were again marshaling their hosts, 
but the ants were greatly reduced in num- 
bers, and had little hope of holding out that 
day. 

“Come and help us,” said their King to 
Jesper, “or we shall be completely defeated. 
I may help you some day in return.” 

Now Jesper had always heard the ants 
spoken of as clever and industrious little 
creatures, while he had never heard any one 
say a good word for the beetles, so he agreed 
to give the wished-for help. At the first 
charge he made, the ranks of the beetles 
broke and fled in dismay, and those escaped 
best that were nearest a hole, and could get 
into it before Jesper’s boots came down upon 


JESPER WHO HERDED THE HARES 7 

them. In a few minutes the ants had the 
field all to themselves; and their King made 
an eloquent speech to Jesper, thanking him 
for the service he had done them, and prom- 
ising to assist him in any difficulty. 

“Just call upon me when you want me,” 
he said, “wherever you are. I’m never far 
away from anywhere, and if I can possibly 
help you, I shall not fail to do it.” 

Jesper was inclined to laugh at this, but 
he kept a grave face, said he would remem- 
ber the offer, and walked on. 

At a turn of the road he suddenly came 
upon the old woman. 

“Good-morning,” said she; “what have 
you got in your basket?” 

“Pearls,” said Jesper; “I’m going to the 
palace to win the Princess with them.” And 
in case she might not believe him, he lifted 
the cover and let her see them. 

“Beautiful,” said the old woman; “very 
beautiful, indeed; but they will go a very 
little way toward winning the Princess, un- 
less you can also perform the tasks that are 
set you. However,” she said, “I see you 
have brought something with you to eat. 
Won’t you give that to me? You are sure 
to get a good dinner at the palace.” 

“Yes, of course,” said Jesper. “I had n’t 


8 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

thought of that.” And he handed over the 
whole of his lunch to the old woman. 

He had already taken a few steps on the 
way again, when the old woman called him 
back again. 

“Here,” she said; “take this whistle in 
return for your lunch. It is n’t much to look 
at, but if you blow it, anything that you 
have lost or that has been taken from you 
will find its way back to you in a moment.” 

Jesper thanked her for the whistle, though 
he did not see of what use it was to be to 
him just then, and held on his way to the 
palace. 

When Jesper presented his pearls to the 
King, there were exclamations of wonder 
and delight from every one who saw them. 
It was not pleasant, however, to discover 
that Jesper was a mere fisher-lad; that 
was n’t the kind of son-in-law that the King 
had expected, and he said so to the Queen. 

“Never mind,” said she, “you can easily 
set him such tasks as he will never be able 
to perform; we shall soon get rid of him.” 

“Yes, of course,” said the King; “really 
I forget things nowadays, with all the bustle 
we have had of late.” 

That day Jesper dined with the King and 
Queen and their nobles, and at night was 


JESPER WHO HERDED THE HARES 9 


put into a bedroom grander than anything 
of the kind he had ever seen. It was all so 
new to him that he could not sleep a wink, 
especially as he was always wondering what 
kind of tasks would be set him to do, and 
whether he would be able to perform them. 
In spite of the softness of the bed, he was 
very glad when morning came at last. 

After breakfast was over, the King said 
to Jesper, “Just come with me, and I'll 
show you what you must do first.” He led 
him out to the barn, and there in the middle 
of the floor was a large pile of grain. “Here,” 
said the King, “you have a mixed heap of 
wheat, barley, oats, and rye, a sackful of 
each. By an hour before sunset you must 
have these sorted out into four heaps, and 
if a single grain is found in a wrong heap you 
have no further chance of marrying my 
daughter. I shall lock the door, so that no 
one can get in to assist you, and I shall re- 
turn at the appointed hour to see how you 
have succeeded.” 

The King walked off, and Jesper looked 
in despair at the task before him. Then he 
sat down and tried what he could do at it, 
but it was soon very clear that single-handed 
he could never hope to accomplish it in the 
time. Assistance was out of the question, — 


10 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


unless, he suddenly thought, — unless the 
King of the Ants could help. On him he 
began to call, and before many minutes had 
passed that royal personage made his appear- 
ance. Jesper explained the trouble he was in. 

“Is that all?” said the ant; “we shall soon 
put that to rights.” He gave the royal sig- 
nal, and in a minute or two a stream of ants 
came pouring into the barn, who under their 
King’s orders set to work to separate the 
grain into the proper heaps. 

Jesper watched them for a while, but 
through the continual movement of the 
little creatures, and his not having slept 
during the previous night, he soon fell sound 
asleep. 

When he woke again, the King had just 
come into the barn, and was amazed to find 
that not only was the task accomplished, 
but that Jesper had found time to take a 
nap as well. 

“Wonderful!” said he; “I couldn’t have 
believed it possible. However, the hardest 
is yet to come, as you will see to-morrow.” 

Jesper thought so, too, when the next day’s 
task was set before him. The King’s game- 
keepers had caught a hundred live hares, 
which were to be let loose in a large meadow, 
and there Jesper must herd them all day, and 


JESPER WHO HERDED THE HARES 11 


bring them safely home in the evening; if 
even one were missing, he must give up all 
thought of marrying the Princess. Before 
he had quite grasped the fact that this was 
an impossible task, the keepers had opened 
the sacks in which the hares were brought 
to the field, and, with a whisk of the short 
tail and a flap of the long ears, each one of 
the hundred flew in a different direction. 

“Now,” said the King, as he walked away, 
“let’s see what your cleverness can do here.” 

Jesper stared around him in bewilderment, 
and having nothing better to do with his 
hands, thrust them into his pockets, as he 
was in the habit of doing. Here he found 
something which turned out to be the whis- 
tle given to him by the old woman. He re- 
membered what she had said about the vir- 
tues of the whistle, but was rather doubtful 
whether its powers would extend to a hun- 
dred hares, each of which had gone in a dif- 
ferent direction and might be several miles 
distant by this time. However, he blew the 
whistle, and in a few minutes the hares came 
bounding through the hedge on all the four 
sides of the field, and before long were all 
sitting round him in a circle. After that, 
Jesper allowed them to run about as they 
pleased, so long as they stayed in the field. 


12 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


The King had told one of the keepers to 
hang about for a little and see what became 
of Jesper, not doubting, however, that as 
soon as he saw the coast clear he would use 
his legs to the best advantage, and never 
show face at the palace again. It was, there- 
fore, with great surprise and annoyance 
that he now learned of the mysterious re- 
turn of the hares and the likelihood of Jes- 
per carrying out his task with success. 

“One of them must be got out of. his hands 
by hook or crook,” said he. “I’ll go and 
seethe Queen about it; she’s good at devising 
plans.” 

A little later a girl in a shabby dress came 
into the field and walked up to Jesper. 

“Do give me one of those hares,” she said; 
“we have just got visitors who are going to 
stay to dinner, and there’s nothing we can 
give them to eat.” 

“I can’t,” said Jesper. “For one thing, 
they’re not mine; for another, a great deal 
depends on my having them all here in the 
evening.” 

But the girl (and she was a very pretty 
girl, though so shabbily dressed) begged so 
hard for one of them that at last he said : — 

“Very well; give me a kiss and you shall 
have one of them.” 


JESPER WHO HERDED THE HARES 13 


He could see that she did n’t quite care 
for this, but she consented to the bargain, 
and gave him the kiss, and went away with 
a hare in her apron. Scarcely had she got 
outside the field, however, when Jesper blew 
his whistle, and immediately the hare wriggled 
out of its prison like an eel, and went back 
to its master at the top of its speed. 

Not long after this the hare-herd had 
another visit. This time it was a stout old 
woman in the dress of a peasant, who also 
was after a hare to provide a dinner for un- 
expected visitors. Jesper again refused, but 
the old lady was so pressing, and would take 
no refusal, that at last he said : — 

“Very well, you shall have a hare, and 
pay nothing for it either, if you will only 
walk round me on tiptoe, look up to the sky, 
and cackle like a hen.” 

“Fie,” said she; “what a ridiculous thing 
to ask any one to do; just think what the 
neighbors would say if they saw me. They 
would think I have taken leave of my senses.” 

“Just as you like,” said Jesper; “you 
know best whether you want the hare or 
not.” 

There was no help for it, and a pretty fig- 
ure the old lady made in carrying out her 
task; the cackling was n’t very well done. 


14 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

but Jesper said it would do, and gave her 
the hare. As soon as she had left the field 
the whistle sounded again, and back came 
long-legs-and-ears at a marvelous speed. 

The next to appear on the same errand 
was a fat old fellow in the dress of a groom: 
it was the royal livery he wore, and he 
plainly thought a good deal of himself. 

“Young man,” said he, “I want one of 
those hares; name your price, but I must 
have one of them.” 

“All right,” said Jesper; “you can have 
one at an easy rate. Just stand on your 
head, whack your heels together, and cry 
‘Hurrah!’ and the hare is yours.” 

“Eh, what!” said the old fellow; “Me 
stand on my head; what an idea!” 

“Oh, very well,” said Jesper, “you need 
n’t unless you like, you know; but then you 
won’t get the hare.” 

It went very much against the grain, one 
could see, but after some efforts the old fel- 
low had his head on the grass and his heels 
in the air; the whacking and the “Hurrah” 
were rather feeble, but Jesper was not very 
exacting, and the hare was handed over. 
Of course, it was n’t long in coming back 
again, like the others. 

Evening came, and home came Jesper 


JESPER WHO HERDED THE HARES 15 

with the hundred hares behind him. Great 
was the wonder over all the palace, and the 
King and Queen seemed very much put out, 
but it was noticed that the Princess actu- 
ally smiled at Jesper. 

“Well, well,” said the King; “you have 
done that very well, indeed. If you are as 
successful with a little task which I shall 
give you to-morrow, we shall consider the 
matter settled, and you shall marry the 
Princess.” 

Next day it was announced that the task 
would be performed in the great hall of the 
palace, and every one was invited to come 
and witness it. The King and Queen sat on 
their thrones, with the Princess beside them, 
and the lords and ladies were all round the 
hall. At a sign from the King, two servants 
carried in a large empty tub, which they 
set down in the open space before the throne, 
and Jesper was told to stand beside it. 

“Now,” said the King, “you must tell us 
as many undoubted truths as will fill that 
tub, or you can’t have the Princess.” 

“But how are we to know when the tub 
is full?” said Jesper. 

“Don’t you trouble about that,” said the 
King; “that’s my part of the business.” 

This seemed to everybody present rather 


16 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

unfair, but no one liked to be the first to 
say so, and Jesper had to put the best face 
he could on the matter, and begin his story. 

“ Yesterday,” he said, “when I was herd- 
ing the hares, there came to me a girl in a 
shabby dress, and begged me to give her 
one of them. She got the hare, but she had 
to give me a kiss for it; and that girl was the 
Princess . Is n’t that true? ” said he, looking 
at her. 

The Princess blushed and looked very un- 
comfortable, but had to admit that it was 
true. 

“That has n’t filled much of the tub,” said 
the King. “Go on again.” 

“After that,” said Jesper, “a stout old 
woman, in a peasant’s dress, came and 
begged for a hare. Before she got it, she had 
to walk round me on tiptoe, turn up her eyes, 
and cackle like a hen, and that old woman was 
the Queen. Is n’t that true, now?” 

The Queen turned very red and hot, but 
could n’t deny it. 

“H-m,” said the King; “that is some- 
thing, but the tub is n’t full yet.” To the 
Queen he whispered, “I didn’t think you 
would be such a fool.” 

“What did you do?” she whispered in 
return. 


HOW THE JELLYFISH LOST HIS BONES 17 

“Do you suppose I would do anything 
for him?" said the King; and then hurriedly 
ordered Jesper to go on. 

“In the next place,” said Jesper,” there 
came a fat old fellow on the same errand. 
He was very proud and dignified, but in 
order to get the hare he actually stood on his 
head, whacked his heels together, and cried 
‘Hurrah ! 9 — and that old fellow was the — ” 

“Stop! Stop!” shouted the King; “you 
need n’t say another word; the tub is full.” 

Then all the court applauded, and the 
King and Queen accepted Jesper as their 
son-in-law, and the Princess was very well 
pleased, for by this time she had quite fallen 
in love with him, because he was so hand- 
some and so clever. When the old King got 
time to think it over, he was quite con- 
vinced that his kingdom would be safe in 
Jesper’s hands if he looked after the people 
as well as he herded the hares. 

Andrew Lang. (A Scandinavian folk-tale.) 

HOW THE JELLYFISH LOST HIS 
BONES 

It was the King of the Weirds, and he sat 
in a tower of his castle. And all around him 
on the walls the Weirds stood and wept, and 


18 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


on the tallest turret the black crow sat and 
said, “Caw, caw, caw!” And the castle 
stood by the shore of the sea, and the King 
looked far over the waves to the Monkeys’ 
Island. And the Prince of the Weirds, the 
King’s little boy, lay in his trundle-bed by 
the throne and moaned all the time. And 
the Prince was very sick, for he had eaten 
the green fruit from the jujube tree, and 
there was nothing could save him but a mon- 
key’s liver. And the Weirds all wept as they 
stood on the walls of the castle, and the black 
crow on the turret said, “Caw, caw!” And 
the Prince could not play with his live toy 
soldiers, or his golden popgun, or his sugar 
dog Tiny, but lay on his bed and moaned 
and cried for monkey’s liver. 

So the King pounded on the floor with 
his scepter and called, “ What ho!” Then 
he sent to the shore for his favorite jellyfish, 
who ran on errands for him in the sea just 
as the black crow ran on errands in the air. 
The jellyfish came up from the water and 
touched his hat to the King, and said, 
“ What does Your Majesty command?” 

Now in these days the jellyfish was a sure- 
enough fish. And it had head and tail and 
fins enough to swim with, and a place where 
it could fold them up when it wanted to walk 


HOW THE JELLYFISH LOST HIS BONES 19 

out on the beach. For the jellyfish had legs, 
too, and could walk, and he wore a hat and 
carried a sword by his side, and he looked 
like a little soldier when he stood on shore. 
And the Prince liked to play with the jelly- 
fish, and they dug holes in the sand together 
and made sand-pies and sometimes they went 
wading in the surf. 

So the jellyfish came walking up the stairs 
with his sword by his side and his fins nicely 
folded in the sheath down his back. And the 
King said, “What ho! You must swim away 
across the sea to the Monkeys’ Island, and 
bring me a monkey with his liver in.” 

And the jellyfish touched his hat, and 
shook out his fins and ran down the stairs 
to the sea and swam away and away, just 
as the King had told him. And the Weirds 
all watched him while he swam, and the 
tears ran down their faces, and the black 
crow on the turret said, “Caw, caw!” 

When the jellyfish came to the Monkeys’ 
Island, he saw a monkey sitting on the limb 
of a tree. And the monkey looked pleased, 
for he had never seen a jellyfish before, and 
he was very tired of living with the monkey 
people and seeing nobody but monkeys, 
monkeys, monkeys everywhere, just like a 
great menagerie. So the jellyfish said, “Come, 


20 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


monkey, don't you want to go out for a sail 
on the water? Come to the land of Weirds 
with me and I will show you the King and 
the castle and the little Prince of the Weirds, 
and the crow that says ‘Caw’ on the tur- 
ret.” 

“All right,” said the monkey, and he 
climbed down the tree in two jumps, and 
took the jellyfish by the hand, for jellyfishes 
had arms and hands in those days as well as 
legs and fins and bones and everything. 

And the jellyfish told the monkey to get 
on his back. Then he spread his fins and 
leaped into the sea. Away they went, over 
the waves till they came to the shore by the 
King's castle. And all the Weirds stood up 
and looked at them, and the crow said, 
“Caw, caw! Beware, O monkey, with your 
liver in.” So the jellyfish shook off the salt 
water, and dusted the sand from his feet, 
and folded his wet fins. Then he took the 
monkey by the arm, and arm in arm they 
went up the marble stairs to the throne of 
the King of the Weirds. 

“What ho!” said the King, “and have you 
brought me the monkey with the liver in?” 

Then he called to the chief cook to come 
in and carve the monkey, and the cook came 
in and sharpened his knife on a stone. 


HOW THE JELLYFISH LOST HIS BONES 21 

Then the monkey was scared, and he ran 
up the wall and sat on the top of the throne 
chattering away to himself and shivering 
as if he were cold. 

And the King could not understand him, 
and said, “What ho! O monkey! what is 
this you say?” 

And the monkey got his voice again, for 
in those days all the animals could talk. 
That was before there were so many little 
children to do the talking for all. And the 
monkey said, “I am so sorry, O great King. 
My liver is so heavy that I always leave it 
at home when I go visiting. It is over on 
the Monkeys’ Island hanging on the limb of 
the tree where I have my home. Oh, if you 
had only told me, then I would have brought 
it along, and His Highness the Prince would 
have been well again.” Then the monkey 
said, “Woe is me!” And the Weirds all wept 
and the crow said, “Caw, caw!” 

And the King said, “What ho, O jellyfish! 
take the monkey home and bring his liver 
only back with you.” 

So away they swam again to the Monkeys’ 
Island, and the monkey clung tight to the 
jellyfish and shivered as he chattered to him- 
self in a language the jellyfish could not 
understand. 


22 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


When they came to the shore the monkey 
ran swiftly up the tree and climbed on the 
long branch. “Woe is me!” he called to the 
jellyfish; “I am undone and all is lost. My 
liver is gone. Some one has stolen it. And 
what will the poor Prince do?” Then he 
chattered away to himself, and softly opened 
and closed one eye to let a tear fall from it, 
and it dropped down on the nose of the jelly- 
fish. 

And the monkey chattered again, and 
all the other monkeys heard him and ran 
away, and each one took his liver with him, 
so the jellyfish could not find a liver any- 
where. 

In the castle of the Weirds the King sat 
and gnashed his teeth, and said: “What 
ho!” when he saw the jellyfish swimming 
back alone. And the Weirds all wept again, 
and the sick Prince groaned and the black 
crow said, “Caw, caw! Beware of the mon- 
key, O King, beware!” 

When the jellyfish came up from the beach 
and entered the castle gate, the King went 
out to meet him. He threw down his scep- 
ter as he stepped off the throne. He picked 
up his umbrella which was standing in the 
hall, and he pounded the jellyfish with it 
until he broke every bone in his body. Then 


THE RED ETTIN 


23 

he beat him again till he had n’t any fins, 
or any bones, or any tail, or any legs, or 
anything else in him but just jelly. 

Ever since then all the jellyfishes there 
are in all the seas have been just as he was 
when the King had finished with him. They 
all swim about in the water without a bone 
in their body, without any fins, or any tail, 
or any legs. Because their legs are all pounded 
to jelly, they never walk out on the land, 
but swim around in the sea. And they open 
and shut themselves just like an umbrella, 
because it was an umbrella that the King 
took when he beat the first jellyfish all to 
fine jelly and made a sure-enough jellyfish 
out of him. 

After a Japanese tale, translated by 

A. H. Chamberlain. 

THE RED ETTIN 

There was once a poor widow who had 
three sons. She lived in a small village 
where there was little to earn and little 
enough for young men of enterprise to do, 
and so the eldest thought it was time to set 
out into the world to earn his fortune. 

So he told his mother, and she said she 
would give him a cake to take with him 


24 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


upon his travels, for she had nothing else 
to give him except her blessing. 

She gave her son a can, and told him to 
go to the well and fill it with water, and 
according to the quantity he brought, so 
large or small would his cake be. 

So the lad went to the well and filled the 
can with water to the brim, and then came 
home again; but unluckily for him the can 
leaked, and so, by the time he gave it to his 
mother, there was very little water left in it. 

The widow made a cake with meal and 
water and baked it, but it was a very small 
one; but small as it was she asked him if he 
would share it with her and his brothers and 
take her blessing with his half, or take the 
whole and receive no blessing with it. 

The young man thought he was very clever 
and he said to himself: “Now I may have 
to travel a long, long way, and I know not 
how I may obtain any other provisions be- 
sides this cake, for I have no money in my 
pocket. Surely it were better to take the 
whole cake and make shift to do without my 
mother’s blessing. She has blessed us often 
enough, but it has profited us nothing.” 

He therefore told his mother he would 
take the whole cake and do without her 
blessing. 


THE RED ETTIN 


25 


The old woman only sighed and bade him 
go. But before doing so he called his brother 
aside and gave him his knife, telling him to 
look at it morning and evening, and, so long 
as it was bright and unspotted, he would 
know that all went well with him, but if it 
should rust, then he would know that his 
brother was in danger. 

Then he set out without his mother’s 
blessing, though he might have known no 
good would come of that. 

For two days he traveled without meet- 
ing any one. But on the third day he met 
a shepherd with a flock of sheep and, as he 
was wearying for the sound of his own voice, 
he asked the man to whom the sheep be- 
longed. 

The man looked up and replied in a very 
curious manner. Said he: — 

“The Red Ettin of Ireland 
Once lived in Ballygan, 

And stole King Malcolm’s daughter, 

The King of fair Scotland. 

He beats her, he binds her, 

He lays her on a band; 

And every day he strikes her 
With a bright silver wand. 

Like Julian the Roman, 

He ’s one that fears no man. 


26 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


It ’s said there ’s one predestinate 
To be his mortal foe; 

But sure that man is yet unborn 
And long may it be so.” 

The young man paid very little heed to 
these words, thinking the shepherd must be 
foolish. But very soon he met an old man 
minding a herd of swine, and when, just for 
the sake of speaking to him, he asked whose 
swine they were, the old man replied in the 
same curious verse. So he went his way and 
presently he met a very old man, who was 
herding goats, and he asked him to whom the 
goats belonged : — 

“To the Red Ettin,” replied the old man, 
and then he too recited the same curious 
verse. 

As the young man was about to pass on 
his way, the old man called him back and 
warned him to beware of the next herd of 
beasts he met, for they would be different 
from any animals he had ever seen before. 

The young man said he was not afraid of 
any beast in the world. But it was an idle 
boast, and before long he was very much 
afraid, indeed, for when he reached a green, 
grassy hill he saw a number of most terrible 
creatures grazing. 

Every beast had two heads and four horns. 


THE RED ETTIN 


27 


and as soon as they saw the young man they 
came charging down the hill toward him. 

Well, he ran as he had never run before, 
with the terrible beasts close behind him, 
and glad enough he was when he saw a 
castle before him, upon the summit of an- 
other hill. 

He ran as fast as he could to the castle 
door, and as it stood open, he went in and saw 
an old woman sitting beside the kitchen fire. 

He asked her if she would give him shelter 
for the night; but she shook her head and 
told him he had come to the wrong place, for 
that the castle belonged to the Red Ettin, 
who was a fearful beast with three heads, 
who never spared any living man he came 
across. 

The young man would have gone away 
quickly enough, you may be sure, but he was 
afraid of the beasts outside, and so begged 
the old woman to hide him, and not tell the 
Red Ettin he was there. 

He thought if only he could have a night’s 
rest and a good meal, he would manage to 
get up early in the morning and creep away 
before any of the terrible beasts were astir. 

But he had not long been hidden away 
when the awful Red Ettin came in, and at 
once he sniffed the air and cried out: — 


28 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

“Snouk but and snouk ben, 

I scent the smell of an earthly man; 

Be he living, or be he dead, 

His heart this night shall kitchen my bread.” 

“Kitchen” is the old-fashioned word for 
“ season,” and you can think how the poor 
young man trembled when he heard this threat. 
In another moment the monster scented him 
out and drew him from his hiding-place. 

He did not devour him, for he had already 
taken his supper, and he told him that he 
would let him go free if he could answer 
three riddles that he asked him. 

But the young man had never been good 
at riddles and he was so frightened now that 
he could not think of anything to answer, 
and so the Red Ettin took his club, knocked 
him on the head, and turned him into a 
pillar of stone. 

The morning after this happened, the 
second brother looked at the knife his 
brother had given him and was very much 
grieved to find it covered with rust, so that 
he was sure his brother had met with some 
terrible misfortune, and he determined to 
set out at once and try to find out what had 
happened to him. 

He told his mother of his determination, 
and she told him to take the can to the well 


THE RED ETTIN 


29 


and fetch water, and according to the amount 
of water he brought, she would bake him a 
cake large or small. 

The can still leaked and so the water 
began to run out; but a raven called him 
when he had carried the can a little way, 
and told him what was happening, so he tried 
to stop the leak with his cap, but a good deal 
of the water had run out before he did so, 
and there was only sufficient left to make a 
moderate-sized cake. 

When it was baked his mother asked him 
if he would be content to share his cake with 
her and his brother and take her blessing 
with his half, or if he would sooner take the 
whole cake without her blessing. But the 
second son thought, as his elder brother had 
done, that if he were to travel far he would 
have need of the whole of his cake, and de- 
cided to do without his mother’s blessing. 

But everything happened to him as it had 
happened to his elder brother: he met the 
shepherd, the swineherd, and the goatherd, 
and they all repeated the same curious verse 
to him. He saw the two-headed beasts upon 
the grassy hill and took shelter from them 
in the castle of the Red Ettin, and was 
found by the monster, and turned into a 
pillar of stone. 


30 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

He had given his knife to his little brother 
Jock and told him that so long as the blade 
was bright and shining, all would be well 
with him, but that if the blade turned 
rusty he would most certainly be in great 
danger. 

So Jock, on seeing the rust upon the blade 
of his brother’s knife, knew that all was not 
well with him and determined to go in search 
of both his brothers. 

He told his mother, and she said she would 
bake him a cake to take upon his journey; 
but he must first take the can to the well 
and fetch water to mix it, and according to 
the quantity of water he brought the cake 
would be large or small. 

He had just filled the can at the well when 
a raven called out to him to look how the 
water was leaking from the can, so the young 
man at once emptied the can, stopped the 
holes in it with clay, and then refilled it with 
water, so that he brought it home without 
losing a drop, and his mother baked a very 
large cake. Then she asked him, as she had 
asked his brothers, whether he would sooner 
have half the cake with her blessing, or set 
out upon his journey with the whole cake 
and no blessing. 

Jock was very fond of his mother, and so 


THE RED ETON 


31 


he said he would prefer half the cake and her 
blessing, and when the cake was divided 
it was as large as his brothers’ whole cakes 
had been. 

His mother kissed and blessed him, and 
he set out with a light heart. Before long 
he met an old, old woman who stopped 
him and begged for a morsel of his cake of 
bread, as she was very hungry. 

The good-natured youth broke the cake 
in two and gave her half, and in return she 
gave him the stick upon which she was lean- 
ing, telling him it would prove a magic wand 
and help him in time of danger. Then she 
stood upright and walked away quite briskly 
without the aid of her stick, so the youth 
guessed she was a fairy. 

He went a little farther on his way and 
met the shepherd herding his sheep. 

“Good-day to you,” said he; “those are 
fine sheep, whose may they be?” 

The man told him they belonged to the 
Red Ettin, and on Jock’s inquiring who he 
might be, the man looked at him very curi- 
ously and replied : — 

“The Red Ettin of Ireland 
Once lived in Ballygan, 

And stole King Malcolm’s daughter, 

The King of fair Scotland. 


32 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


He beats her, he binds her. 

He lays her on a band; 

And every day he strikes her 
With a bright silver wand. 

Like Julian the Roman, 

He’s one that fears no man. 

But now I see his end is near 
And destiny at hand; 

And you ’re to be, I plainly see, 

The heir of all his land ! ” 

The youth went on, wondering very much 
about the Red Ettin and thinking how 
dearly he would love to rescue the Xing of 
Scotland’s daughter, who was suffering so 
much at his hands. Presently he met the 
swineherd, and, on inquiring whose swine 
he was herding, received the same reply the 
shepherd had given him. Farther on he met 
the goatherd, and he also gave him the same 
reply. 

When he reached the green, grassy hill 
and saw the terrible two-headed beasts, 
instead of running away when they ran 
roaring toward him, he struck at them with 
the old woman’s stick and instantly they 
fell dead at his feet. 

He came to the castle presently and went 
in, and found the old woman sitting beside 
the kitchen fire. 

She told him to begone and warned him 


THE RED ETTIN 


33 


of the sad fate his brothers had met, and 
assured him that when the Red Ettin came 
home he would fare no better than they had 
done. 

But Jock was not to be daunted. 

As soon as the monster came in, he sniffed 
around and said: — 

“Snouk but, snouk ben, 

I scent the smell of an earthly man; 

Be he living or be he dead, 

His heart this night shall kitchen my bread.” 

Of course, he very speedily found the 
young man and bade him come out of his 
hiding-place. Then he told him he would 
spare his life if he could guess three riddles 
that he put to him, and no sooner did he ask 
them than Jock placed the magic stick to 
his ear and it whispered the answers. 

I cannot tell you what the riddles were, 
but I am quite sure they were very difficult 
ones, because no one has ever been able to 
remember them. 

As soon as the riddles had been answered, 
the Red Ettin’s power was gone and he fell 
groveling at Jock’s feet, begging for mercy, 
but Jock took an axe and chopped all his 
three heads off at a blow, and there was an 
end of him. Then he asked the old woman 


34 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


where the King of Scotland’s daughter was 
imprisoned, and she led him along many 
passages and up and down many stairs until 
they came to a dark dungeon, and when 
Jock opened the door he found the King of 
Scotland’s daughter. 

She was more beautiful than the day and 
so grateful to Jock for delivering her that he 
fell in love with her there and then. 

There were numbers of others besides the 
King’s daughter shut up in the castle and 
Jock set them all free. 

Last of all the woman led him into a hall 
where there were two stone pillars, and no 
sooner had he touched the pillars with his 
wand than they turned into his two lost 
brothers. 

The next day they all set out for the King 
of Scotland’s court, and when they reached 
it and the Princess told her father that it was 
Jock who had rescued her from the terrible 
Red Ettin, he said that he should wed her 
if he wished to. 

Jock was only too delighted to be a king’s 
son-in-law, and besides that he had fallen 
in love with the Princess, and so, as she was 
quite willing, they were married the same 
day. 

His two brothers married two beautiful 


THE WATER OF LIFE 


35 


court ladies who brought them large estates. 
Jock did not forget his old mother, but had 
her to live with him in his castle and made 
her happy all the days of her life. 

THE WATER OF LIFE 

Once upon a time there was an old king 
who had a faithful servant. There was no- 
body in the whole world like him, and this 
was why: around his wrist he wore an armlet 
that fitted as close as the skin. There were 
words on the golden band. On one side they 
said : — 

“Who thinks to wear me on his arm 
Must lack both guile and thought of harm.” 

And on the other side they said : — 

“I am for only one, and he 
Shall be as strong as ten can be.” 

At last the old King felt that his end was 
near, and he called the faithful servant to 
him and besought him to serve and aid the 
young King who was to come as he had 
served and aided the old King who was to 
go. The faithful servant promised that which 
was asked, and then the old King closed his 
eyes and folded his hands and went the way 


36 THIR D BOOK OF STORIES 

that those had traveled who had gone before 
him. 

Well, one day a stranger came to that 
town from over the hills and far away. With 
him he brought a painted picture, but it was 
all covered with a curtain so that nobody 
could see what it was. 

He drew aside the curtain and showed the 
picture to the young King, and it was a like- 
ness of the most beautiful Princess in the 
whole world; for her eyes were as black as a 
crow’s wing, her cheeks were as red as apples, 
and her skin as white as snow. Moreover, 
the picture was so natural that it seemed as 
though it had nothing to do but to open its 
lips and speak. 

The young King just sat and looked and 
looked. “Oh, me!” said he, “I will never 
rest content until I have such a one as that 
for my own.” 

“Then listen!” said the stranger; “this 
is a likeness of the Princess that lives over 
beyond the three rivers. Awhile ago she had 
a wise bird on which she doted, for it knew 
everything that happened in the world, so 
that it could tell the Princess whatever she 
wanted to know. But now the bird is dead, 
and the Princess does nothing but grieve for it 
day and night. She keeps the dead bird in a 


THE WATER OF LIFE 


37 


glass casket, and has promised to marry who- 
ever will bring a cup of water from the Foun- 
tain of Life, so that the bird may be brought 
back to life again.” 

That was the story the stranger told, and 
then he jogged on the way he was going, and 
I, for one, do not know whither it led. 

But the young King had no peace or com- 
fort in life thinking of the Princess who lived 
over beyond the three rivers. At last he 
called the faithful servant to him. “And can 
you not,” said he, “get me a cup of the Water 
of Life?” 

“I know not, but I will try,” said the faith- 
ful servant, for he bore in mind what he had 
promised to the old King. 

So out he went into the wide world, to seek 
for what the young. King wanted, though the 
way there is both rough and thorny. On he 
went and on, until his shoes were dusty, and 
his feet were sore, and after a while he came 
to the end of the earth, and there was nothing 
more over the hill. There he found a little 
tumble-down hut, and within the hut sat an 
old, old woman with a distaff, spinning a 
lump of flax. 

“Good-morning, mother,” said the faithful 
servant. 

“Good-morning, my son,” said the old 


38 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


woman; “and where are you traveling that 
you have come so far? ” 

“Oh!” said the faithful servant, “I am 
hunting for the Water of Life, and have come 
as far as this without finding a drop of it.” 

“Hoity, toity,” says the old woman; “if 
that is what you are after, you have a long 
way to go yet. The fountain is in the country 
that lies east of the Sun and west of the Moon, 
and it is few that have gone there and come 
back again, I can tell you. Besides that, there 
is a great dragon that keeps watch over the 
water, and you will have to get the better of 
him before you can touch a drop of it. All the 
same, if you have made up your mind to go, 
you may stay here until my sons come home, 
and perhaps they can put you in the way of 
getting there, for I am mother of the Four 
Winds of Heaven, and it is few places that 
they have not seen.” 

So the faithful servant came in and sat 
down by the fire to wait till the Winds came 
home. 

The first that came was the East Wind; but 
he knew nothing of the Water of Life and the 
land that lay east of the Sun and West of the 
Moon; he had heard folks talk of them both 
now and then, but he had never seen them 
with his own eyes. 


THE WATER OF LIFE 


39 


The next that came was the South Wind, 
but he knew no more than his brother, and 
neither did the West Wind for the matter of 
that. 

Last of all came the North Wind, and dear, 
dear, what a hubbub he made outside of the 
door, stamping the dust off his feet before he 
came into the house. 

“And do you know where the Fountain of 
Life is, and the country that lies east of the Sun 
and west of the Moon?” said the old woman. 

Oh, yes, the North Wind knew where it 
was. He had been there once upon a time, 
but it was a long, long distance away. 

“So, good! Then perhaps you will give this 
lad a lift over there to-morrow,” said the old 
woman. 

At this the North Wind grumbled and 
shook his head; but at last he said “yes”; for 
he is a good-hearted fellow at bottom, is the 
North Wind, though his ways are a trifle 
rough, perhaps. 

So the next morning he took the faithful 
servant on his back, and away he flew till the 
man’s hair whistled behind him. On they 
went and on they went and on they went, un- 
til at last they came to the country that lay 
east of the Sun and west of the Moon; and 
they were none too soon getting there either, 


40 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


I can tell you, for when the North Wind tum- 
bled the faithful servant off his back he was 
so weak that he could not have lifted a 
feather. 

“Thank you,” said the faithful servant, 
and then he was for starting away to find what 
he came for. 

“Stop a bit,” says the North Wind; “you 
will be wanting to come away again after a 
while. I cannot wait here, for I have other 
business to look after. But here is a feather; 
when you want me, cast it into the air, and I 
will not be long in coming.” 

Then away he bustled, for he had caught 
his breath again, and time was none too long 
for him. 

The faithful servant walked along a great 
distance until, by and by, he came to a field 
covered all over with sharp rocks and white 
bones, for he was not the first by many who 
had been that way for a cup of the Water of 
Life. 

There lay the great fiery dragon in the sun, 
sound asleep, and so the faithful servant had 
time to look about him. Not far away was a 
great deep trench like a drain in a swampy 
field; that was a path that the dragon had 
made by going to the river for a drink of 
water every day. The faithful servant dug a 


THE WATER OF LIFE 


41 


hole in the bottom of this trench, and there he 
hid himself as snugly as a cricket in the crack 
in the kitchen floor. By and by the dragon 
awoke and found that he was thirsty, and 
then started down to the river to get a drink. 
The faithful servant lay as still as a mouse 
until the dragon was just above where he was 
hidden; then he thrust his sword through its 
heart and there it lay, after a turn or two, as 
dead as a stone. 

After that he had only to fill the cup at the 
Fountain, for there was nobody to say nay to 
him. Then he cast the feather into the air, 
and there was the North Wind, as fresh and 
as sound as ever. The North Wind took him 
upon its back, and away it flew until it came 
home again. 

The faithful servant thanked them all 
around, — the Four Winds and the old 
woman, — and as they would take nothing 
else, he gave them a few drops of the Water of 
Life, and that is the reason that the Four 
Winds and their mother are as fresh and 
young as they were when the world began. 

Then the faithful servant set off home 
again, right foot foremost, and he was not as 
long in getting there as in coming. 

As soon as the King saw the cup of the 
Water of Life he had the horses saddled. 


42 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

and off he and the faithful servant rode to find 
the Princess who lived over beyond the three 
rivers. By and by they came to the town, and 
there was the Princess mourning and grieving 
over her bird just as she had done from the 
first. But when she heard that the King had 
brought the Water of Life she welcomed him 
as though he were a flower in March. 

They sprinkled a few drops upon the dead 
bird, and up it sprang as lively and as well as 
ever. 

But now, before the Princess would marry 
the King she must have a talk with the bird, 
and there came the hitch, for the Wise Bird 
knew as well as you and I that it was not the 
King who had brought the Water of Life. 

“Go and tell him,” said the Wise Bird, 
“that you are ready to marry him as soon as 
he saddles and bridles the Wild Black Horse 
in the forest over yonder, for if he is the hero 
who found the Water of Life he can do that 
and more easily enough.” 

The Princess did as the bird told her, and so 
the King missed getting what he wanted after 
all. But off he went to the faithful servant. 

“And can you not saddle and bridle the 
Wild Black Horse for me?” said he. 

“I do not know,” said the faithful servant, 
“but I will try.” 


THE WATER OF LIFE 


43 


So off he went to the forest to hunt up the 
Wild Black Horse, the saddle over his shoul- 
der and the bridle over his arm. By and by 
came the Wild Black Horse galloping through 
the woods like a thunder gust in summer, so 
that the ground shook under his feet. But the 
faithful servant was ready for him; he caught 
him by the mane and forelock, and the Wild 
Black Horse had never had such a one to 
catch hold of him before. 

But how they did stamp and wrestle! Up 
and down and here and there, until the fire 
flew from the stones under their feet. But the 
Wild Black Horse could not stand against the 
strength of ten men, such as the faithful serv- 
ant had, so by and by he fell on his knees, and 
the faithful servant clapped the saddle on his 
back and slipped the bridle over his ears. 

“Listen, now,” says he; “to-morrow my 
master, the King, will ride you up to the 
Princess’s house, and if you do not do just as I 
tell you, it will be the worse for you; when the 
King mounts upon your back you must stagger 
and groan, as though you carried a moun- 
tain.” 

The horse promised to do as the other bade, 
and then the faithful servant jumped on his 
back and away to the King, who had been 
waiting at home for all this time. 


44 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


The next day the King rode up to the Prin- 
cess’s castle, and the Wild Black Horse did 
just as the faithful servant told him to do; he 
staggered and groaned, so that everybody 
cried out, “Look at the great hero riding upon 
the Wild Black Horse!” 

And when the Princess saw him she also 
thought that he was a great hero. But the 
Wise Bird was of a different mind from her, 
for when the Princess came to talk to him 
about marrying the King he shook his head. 

“No, no,” said he, “there is something 
wrong here, and the King has baked his cake 
in somebody else’s oven. He never saddled 
and bridled the Wild Black Horse by himself. 
Listen; you must say to him that you will 
marry nobody but the man who wears such 
and such a golden armlet with this and that 
written on it.” 

So the Princess told the King what the 
Wise Bird had bidden her to say, and the 
King went straightway to the faithful servant. 

“You must let me have your armlet,” said 
he. 

“Alas, master,” said the faithful servant, 
“that is a woeful thing for me, for the one and 
only way to take the armlet off my wrist is to 
cut my hand from off my body.” 

“So!” says the King, “that is a great pity, 


THE WATER OF LIFE 45 

but the Princess will not have me without the 
armlet.” 

“Then you shall have it,” says the faithful 
servant. But the King had to cut the hand 
off, for the faithful servant could not do it 
himself. 

But, bless your heart! the armlet was ever 
so much too large for the King to wear! Nev- 
ertheless, he tied it to his wrist with a bit of 
ribbon, and off he marched to the Princess’s 
castle. 

“Here is the armlet of gold,” said he; “and 
now will you marry me?” 

But the Wise Bird sat on the Princess’s 
chair. “Hut! tut!” says he, “it does not fit 
the man.” 

Yes, that was so; everybody who was there 
could see it easily enough; and as for marrying 
him, the Princess would marry nobody but 
the man who could wear the armlet. 

What a hubbub there was then ! Every one 
who was there was sure that the armlet would 
fit him if it fitted nobody else. But no; it was 
far too large for the best of them. 

The faithful servant was very sad, and 
stood back of the rest, over by the wall, with 
his arm tied up in a napkin. 

“You shall try it too,” says the Princess; 
but the faithful servant only shook his head, 


46 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


for he could not try it on as the rest had done, 
because he had no hand. 

But the Wise Bird was there and knew 
what he was about. “See now,” says he, 
“maybe the Water of Life will cure one thing 
as well as another.” 

Yes, that was true, and one was sent to 
fetch the cup. They sprinkled it on the faith- 
ful servant’s arm, and it was not twice they 
had to do it, for there was another hand as 
good and better than the old. 

Then they gave him the armlet; he slipped 
it over his hand, and it fitted him like his own 
skin. 

“This is the man for me,” says the Prin- 
cess, “ and I will have none other.” For she 
could see with half an eye that he was the hero 
who had been doing all the wonderful things 
that had happened, because he said nothing 
about himself. 

As for the King — why, all that was left for 
him to do was to pack off home again; and I, 
for one, am glad of it. 

And this is true: the best packages are not 
always wrapped up in blue paper and tied 
with a gay string, and there are better men in 
the world than kings and princes, fine as they 
seem to be. 


Howard Pyue. 


THE HUSBAND MINDS THE HOUSE 47 


THE HUSBAND WHO WAS TO MIND 
THE HOUSE 

Once on a time there was a man so mean 
and cross that he never thought his wife did 
anything right in the house. So one evening 
in haymaking time he came home scolding 
and tearing, and showing his teeth and mak- 
ing a fuss. 

“ Dear love, don’t be so angry; there ’s a good 
man,” said his goody; “to-morrow let ’s change 
our work. I’ll go out with the mowers and 
mow, and you shall mind the house at home.” 

The husband thought that would do very 
well. He was quite willing, he said. 

So, early next morning, his goody took a 
scythe on her shoulders, and went out into 
the hayfield with the mowers, and began to 
mow; but the man was to mind the house and 
do the work at home. 

First of all he wanted to churn the butter; 
but when he had churned a while, he grew 
thirsty and went down to the cellar to tap a 
barrel of ale. So, just when he was putting the 
tap into the cask, he heard overhead the pig 
come into the kitchen. Then off he ran up the 
cellar stairs, with the tap in his hand, as fast 
as he could to look after the pig, lest it should 


48 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

upset the churn. But when he got up, and 
saw the pig had already knocked the churn 
over and stood there grunting and rooting in 
the cream which was running all over , the 
floor, he became so wild with rage, that he 
quite forgot the ale barrel, and ran at the pig 
as hard as he could. 

He caught it, too, just as it ran out of doors, 
and gave it such a kick that piggy died on the 
spot. Then all at once he remembered he had 
the tap in his hand; but when he got down to 
the cellar, every drop of ale had run out of the 
cask. 

Then he went into the dairy and found 
enough cream left to fill the churn again, and 
so he began to churn, for butter they must 
have at dinner. When he had churned a bit, 
he remembered that their milking cow was 
still shut up in its stall, and had not had a 
mouthful to eat or a drop to drink all the 
morning, though the sun was high. Then he 
thought it too far to take her down to the 
meadow, so he’d just get her up on the house- 
top, for the house, you must know, was 
thatched with sods, and a fine crop of grass 
was growing there. Now their house lay close 
up against a steep rock, and he thought if he 
laid a plank across to the roof at the back, 
he’d easily get the cow up. 


THE HUSBAND MINDS THE HOUSE 49 

But still he could not leave the churn, for 
there was their little babe crawling about the 
floor, and “If I leave it,” he thought, “the 
child is sure to upset it.” 

So he took the chum on his back and went 
out with it. Then he thought he’d better 
water the cow before he turned her out on the 
thatch, and he took up a bucket to draw water 
out of the well. But, as he stooped down at 
the brink of the well, all the cream ran out of 
the churn over his shoulders, about his neck, 
and down into the well. 

Now it was near dinner-time, and he had 
not even got butter yet. So he thought he’d 
best boil the porridge, and he filled the pot 
with water, and hung it over the fire. When 
he had done that, he thought the cow might 
perhaps fall off the thatch and break her legs 
or her neck. So he got up on the house to tie 
her up. One end of the rope he made fast to 
the cow’s neck, and the other he slipped down 
the chimney and tied round his own waist. 
He had to make haste, for the water now be- 
gan to boil in the pot, and he had still to grind 
the oatmeal. 

So he began to grind away; but while he 
was hard at it, down fell the cow off the house- 
top after all, and as she fell she dragged the 
man up the chimney by the rope. There he 


50 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


stuck fast. And as for the cow, she hung 
halfway down the wall, swinging between 
heaven and earth, for she could neither get 
down nor up. 

And now the goody had waited seven 
lengths and seven breadths for her husband 
to come and call them home to dinner, but 
never a call they had. At last she thought 
she’d waited long enough and went home. 

When she got there and saw the cow hang- 
ing in such an ugly place, she ran up and cut 
the rope in two with her scythe. But as she 
did this, down came her husband out of the 
chimney, and so when his old dame came 
inside the kitchen, there she found him 
standing on his head in the porridge pot. 

Gudrun Thorne-Thomsen. 


CHILDE ROWLAND 

Childe Rowland and his brothers twain 
Were playing at the ball, 

And there was their sister, Burd Ellen, 

In the midst, among them all. 

Childe Rowland kicked it with his foot 
And caught it with his knee; 

At last as he plunged among them all 
O’er the church he made it flee. 


CHILDE ROWLAND 


51 


Burd Ellen round about the aisle 
To seek the ball is gone, 

But long they waited, and longer still, 

And she came not back again. 

They sought her east, they sought her west. 
They sought her up and down, 

And woe were the hearts of those brethren. 
For she was not to be found. 

So at last her eldest brother went to the 
Warlock Merlin and told him all the case, and 
asked him if he knew where Burd Ellen was. 

“The fair Burd Ellen,” said the Warlock 
Merlin, “must have been carried off by the 
fairies, because she went round the church 
‘widershins’ — the opposite way to the sun. 
She is now in the Dark Tower of the King of 
Elfland; it would take the boldest knight in 
Christendom to bring her back.” 

“If it is possible to bring her back,” said 
her brother, “I’ll do it, or perish in the at- 
tempt.” 

“Possible it is,” said the Warlock Merlin, 
“but woe to the man or mother’s son that at- 
tempts it, if he is not well taught beforehand 
what he is to do.” 

The eldest brother of Burd Ellen was not to 
be put off by any fear of danger from attempt- 
ing to get her back, so he begged the Warlock 


52 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


Merlin to tell him what he should do, and 
what he should not do, in going to seek his 
sister. And after he had been taught, and had 
repeated his lesson, he set out for Elfland. 

But long they waited, and longer still. 

With doubt and muckle pain, 

But woe were the hearts of his brethren, 

For he came not back again. 

Then the second brother got tired and 
tired of waiting, and he went to the Warlock 
Merlin and asked him the same as his brother. 
So he set out to find Burd Ellen. 

But long they waited, and longer still. 

With muckle doubt and pain, 

And woe were his mother’s and brother’s 
heart, 

For he came not back again. 

And when they had waited and waited a 
good long time, Childe Rowland, the young- 
est of Burd Ellen’s brothers, wished to go, 
and went to his mother, the good Queen, to 
ask her to let him go. But she would not at 
first, for he was the last and dearest of her 
children, and if he were lost, all would be lost. 
But he begged, and he begged, till at last the 
good Queen let him go, and gave him his fath- 
er’s good brand that never struck in vain, and 


CHILDE ROWLAND 


53 


as she girt it round his waist, she said the 
spell that would give it victory. 

So Childe Rowland said good-bye to the 
good Queen, his mother, and went to the cave 
of the Warlock Merlin. “Once more, and but 
once more,” he said to the Warlock, “tell how 
man or mother’s son may rescue Burd Ellen 
and her brothers twain.” 

“Well, my son,” said the Warlock Merlin, 
“there are but two things; simple they may 
seem, but hard they are to do. One thing to 
do, and one thing not to do. And the thing to 
do is this: after you have entered the land of 
Fairy, whoever speaks to you, till you meet the 
Burd Ellen, you must out with your father’s 
brand and off with his head. And what you ’ve 
not to do is this: bite no bit, and drink no 
drop, however hungry or thirsty you be; drink 
a drop, or bite a bit, while in Elfland you be 
and never will you see Middle Earth again.” 

So Childe Rowland said the two things over 
and over again, till he knew them by heart, 
and he thanked the Warlock Merlin and went 
on his way. And he went along, and along, 
and along, and still farther along, till he 
came to the horse-herd of the King of Elfland 
feeding his horses. These he knew by their 
fiery eyes, and knew that he was at last in 
the land of Fairy. 


54 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


“Canst thou tell me,” said Childe Rowland 
to the horse-herd, “ where the King of Elf- 
land’s Dark Tower is?” 

“I cannot tell thee,” said the horse-herd, 
“but go on a little farther and thou wilt come 
to the cow-herd, and he, maybe, can tell thee.” 

Then, without a word more, Childe Row- 
land drew the good brand that never struck in 
vain, and off went the horse-herd’s head. 

And Childe Rowland went on farther, till 
he came to the cow-herd, and asked him the 
same question. 

“I can’t tell thee,” said he, “but go on a 
little farther, and thou wilt come to the hen- 
wife, and she is sure to know.” 

Then Childe Rowland out with his good 
brand that never struck in vain, and off went 
the cow-herd’s head. 

And he went on a little farther, till he came 
to an old woman in a gray cloak, and he asked 
her if she knew where the Dark Tower of the 
King of Elfland was. 

“Go on a little farther,” said the hen-wife, 
“till you come to a round green hill, sur- 
rounded with terrace-rings, from the bottom 
to the top; go round it three times, ‘wider- 
shins,’ and each time say: — 

“ ‘Open, door! open, door! 

And let me come in,’ — 


CHILDE ROWLAND 


55 


and the third time the door will open, and you 
may go in.” 

And Childe Rowland was just going on, 
when he remembered what he had to do; so he 
out with the good brand that never struck in 
vain, and off went the hen-wife’s head. 

Then he went on, and on, and on, till he 
came to the round green hill with the terrace 
rings from top to bottom, and he went round 
it three times, “wider shins,” saying each 
time: — 

“Open, door! open, door! 

And let me come in.” 

And the third time the door did open, and he 
went in, and it closed with a click, and Childe 
Rowland was left in the dark. 

It was not exactly dark, but a kind of twi- 
light or gloaming. There were neither win- 
dows nor candles, and he could not make out 
where the twilight came from, if not through 
the walls and roof. These were rough arches 
made of a transparent rock, encrusted with 
sheepsilver and rock spar, and other bright 
stones. But though it was rock, the air was 
quite warm, as it always is in Elfland. 

So he went through this passage till at last 
he came to two wide and high folding-doors 
which stood ajar. And when he opened them, 


56 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


there he saw a most wonderful and glorious 
sight. A large and spacious hall, so large that 
it seemed to be as long and as broad as the 
green hill itself. The roof was supported by 
fine pillars, so large and lofty that the pillars 
of a cathedral were as nothing to them. They 
were all of gold and silver, with fretted work, 
and between them and around them wreaths 
of flowers, composed of — what do you think? 
Why, of diamonds and emeralds, and all man- 
ner of precious stones. And the very key- 
stones of the arches had for ornaments clus- 
ters of diamonds and rubies and pearls, and 
other precious stones. And all these arches 
met in the middle of the roof, and just there 
hung, by a gold chain, an immense lamp made 
out of one big pearl hollowed out and quite 
transparent. And in the middle of this was 
a huge, big carbuncle, which kept spinning 
round and round, and this was what gave 
light by its rays to the whole hall, which 
seemed as if the setting sun was shining on it. 

The hall was furnished in a manner equally 
grand, and at one end of it was a glorious 
couch of velvet, silk, and gold, and there sat 
Burd Ellen, combing her golden hair with a 
silver comb. 

And when she saw Childe Rowland she 
stood up and said : — 


CHILDE ROWLAND 


57 


“God pity ye, poor luckless fool. 

What have ye here to do? 

“Hear ye this, my youngest brother, 

Why did n’t ye bide at home? 

Had you a hundred thousand lives 
Ye could n’t spare any a one. 

“But sit ye down; but woe, oh, woe, 

That ever ye were born, 

For come the King of Elfland in. 

Your fortune is forlorn.” 

Then they sat down together, and Childe 
Rowland told her all that he had done, and 
she told him how their two brothers had 
reached the Dark Tower, but had been en- 
chanted by the King of Elfland, and lay there 
entombed as if dead. And then, after they 
had talked a little longer, Childe Rowland be- 
gan to feel hungry from his long travels, and 
told his sister Burd Ellen how hungry he was 
and asked for some food, forgetting all about 
the Warlock Merlin’s warning. 

Burd Ellen looked at Childe Rowland 
and shook her head, but she was under a 
spell, and could not warn him. So she rose up 
and went out, and soon brought back a golden 
basin full of bread and milk. Childe Rowland 
was just going to raise it to his lips, when he 
looked at his sister and remembered why he 


58 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


had come all that way. So he dashed the bowl 
to the ground, and said: “Not a sup will I 
swallow, nor a bit will I bite, till Burd Ellen is 
set free.” 

Just at that moment they heard the noise 
of some one approaching, and a loud voice 
was heard saying: — 

“Fee, fi, fo, fum, 

I smell the blood of a Christian man. 

Be he dead, be he living, with my brand. 
I’ll dash his brains from his brain-pan.” 

And then the folding-doors of the hall were 
burst open, and the King of Elfland rushed in. 

“Strike, then. Bogle, if thou darest!” 
shouted out Childe Rowland, and rushed to 
meet him with his good brand that never yet 
did fail. 

They fought, and they fought, and they 
fought, till Childe Rowland beat the King of 
Elfland down on to his knees, and caused him 
to yield and beg for mercy. 

“I grant thee mercy,” said Childe Row- 
land; “release my sister from thy spells and 
raise my brothers to life, and let us all go free, 
and thou shalt be spared.” 

“I agree,” said the Elfin King. And rising 
up he went to a chest from which he took a 
phial filled with a blood-red liquor. With this 


CHILDE ROWLAND 


he anointed the ears, eyelids, nostrils, lips, 
and finger-tips of the two brothers, and they 
sprang at once into life, and declared that 
their souls had been away, but had now re- 
turned. The Elfin King then said some words 
to Burd Ellen, and she was disenchanted, and 
they all four passed out of the hall, through 
the long passage, and turned their backs on 
the Dark Tower, never to return again. So 
they reached home and the good Queen, their 
mother; and Burd Ellen never went round a 
church “widershins” again. 


Joseph Jacobs. 


A LEGEND OF THE MIDDLE 
AGES 

SAINT JEROME AND THE LION 
Part I 

Leo Becomes a Brother 

One fine morning Saint Jerome was walking 
briskly along the bank of the River Jordan. 
By his side plodded a little donkey bearing on 
his back an earthen jar. They had been down 
to the river together to get water, and were 
taking it back to the monastery on the hill for 
the monks to drink at their noonday meal. 

Jerome was singing merrily, touching the 
stupid little donkey now and then with a 
twig of olive leaves to keep him from going to 
sleep. Suddenly Jerome heard a very strange 
sound. The donkey stopped suddenly, and 
bracing his forelegs and cocking forward his 
long, flappy ears, looked afraid and foolish. 
Jerome stopped too. 

“Dear me,” he said aloud, “how very 
strange that sounded. What do you suppose 
it was?” Now there was no one else near, so 


SAINT JEROME AND THE LION 61 


he must have been talking to himself. But 
the donkey thought he was being spoken to, 
so he wagged his head, and said, “Hee-haw!” 
This was a very silly answer, indeed, and did 
not help Jerome at all. 

He was about to start the donkey once 
more on his climb toward home, when that 
sound came again. This time he noticed that 
it was a sad sound, a sort of whining growl 
that ended in a sob. It sounded nearer than 
before, and seemed to come from the clump 
of bushes- 

Jerome and the donkey turned their heads 
quickly in that direction, and the donkey 
trembled all over, he was so frightened. But 
his master only said, “It must be a lion.” 

And sure enough: he had hardly spoken 
the word when out of the bushes came poking 
the great head and yellow eyes of a lion. He 
was looking straight at Jerome. Then, giving 
that cry again, he bounded out and strode 
toward the good man, who was holding the 
donkey tight to keep him from running away. 
He was the biggest kind of a lion, much big- 
ger than the donkey, and his mane was thick 
and long, and his tail had a yellow brush on 
the end as large as a window mop. But as he 
came, Jerome noticed that he limped as if he 
were lame. 


62 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

At once the Saint was filled with pity, for 
he could not bear to see any creature suffer. 
And without any thought of fear, he went 
forward to meet the lion. Instead of pouncing 
upon him fiercely, or snarling, or making 
ready to eat him up, the lion crouched whin- 
ing at his feet. 

“Poor fellow,” said Jerome, “what hurts 
you and makes you lame, brother lion?” 

The lion shook his yellow mane and roared. 
But his eyes were not fierce; they were only 
full of pain as they looked up into those of 
Jerome asking for help. And then he held up 
his right forepaw and shook it to show that 
this was where the trouble lay. Jerome looked 
at him kindly. 

“Lie down, sir,” he said, just as one would 
speak to a big yellow dog. And obediently 
the lion charged. 

.Then the good man bent over him, and tak- 
ing the great paw in his hand examined it 
carefully. In the soft cushion of the paw a 
long pointed thorn was piercing so deeply 
that he could hardly find the end. No wonder 
the poor lion had roared with pain! 

Jerome pulled out the thorn as gently as he 
could, and though it must have hurt the lion 
badly he did not make a sound, but lay still as 
he had been told. And when the thorn was 


SAINT JEROME AND THE LION 63 


taken out the lion licked Jerome’s hand, and 
looked up in his face as if he would say, 
“Thank you, kind man. I shall not forget.” 

Now when the Saint had finished this good 
deed he went back to the donkey and started 
on toward the monastery. But hearing the 
soft pad of steps behind him he turned and 
saw the great yellow lion was following close 
at his heels. At first he was somewhat em- 
barrassed, for he did not know how the other 
monks would receive this big stranger. But 
it did not seem polite or kind to drive him 
away, especially as he was still somewhat 
lame. 

So they climbed the hill to the monastery. 
Some one had seen Jerome coming with this 
strange attendant at his heels. So the win- 
dows and doors were crowded with monks 
peering over one another’s shoulders. But 
they were all on tiptoe to run back again 
twice as quickly if the lion should roar or lash 
his tail. 

Now, although Jerome knew that the house 
was expecting every minute to see him eaten 
up, he did not hurry or worry at all. Leisurely 
he unloaded the water- jar and put the donkey 
in his stable, the lion following him every- 
where he went. When all was finished, he 
turned to bid the beast good-bye. But in- 


64 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


stead of taking the hint and departing as he 
was expected to, the lion crouched at Jerome’s 
feet and licked his sandals. Then he looked 
up in the Saint’s face and pawed at his coarse 
gown pleadingly, as if he said, “ Good man, I 
love you because you took the thorn out of 
my foot. Let me stay with you always to be 
your watch-dog.” And Jerome understood. 

“Well, if you wish to stay I am willing, so 
long as you are good,” he said. At these 
words the lion leaped up and roared with joy 
so loudly that all the monks who were watch- 
ing tumbled over one another and ran away 
to their cells in a terrible fright. 

Jerome carried the water-jar into the empty 
kitchen, and the lion followed. After sniffing 
about the place to get acquainted, just as a 
kitten does in its new home, the lion lay down 
in front of the fire and curled his head up on 
his paws, like the big cat he was. And so after 
a long sigh he went to sleep. 

Then Jerome had a chance to tell the other 
monks all about it. At first they were timid 
and would not hear of keeping such a danger- 
ous pet. But when they had all tiptoed down 
to the kitchen behind Jerome and had seen 
the big kitten asleep there so peacefully, they 
were not so much afraid. 

“I’ll tell you what we will do,” said the 


SAINT JEROME AND THE LION 65 


Abbot. “If Brother Jerome can make his 
friend eat porridge and herbs like the rest of 
us we will let him join our number. But we 
cannot have any flesh-eating creature among 
us. Some of us are too fat and tempting, I 
fear.” And he glanced at several of the round- 
est monks, who shuddered in their tight 
gowns. But the Abbot himself was the fattest 
of them all, and he spoke with feeling. 

So it was decided. Jerome let the lion sleep 
a good long nap, to put him in a fine humor. 
But when it came time for supper he mixed a 
bowl of porridge and milk and filled a big 
wooden platter with boiled greens. Then, 
taking one dish in each hand, he went up to 
the lion and set them in front of his nose. 

“Leo, Leo, Leo!” he called coaxingly, just 
as a little girl would call “Kitty, Kitty, 
Kitty!” to her pet. 

The lion lifted up his head and purred, like 
a small furnace, for he recognized his friend’s 
voice. But when he smelled the dishes of food 
he sniffed and made a horrid face, wrinkling 
up his nose and saying “Ugh!” He did not 
like the stuff at all. 

But Jerome patted him on the head and 
said, “You had better eat it, Leo; it is all I 
have myself. Share and share alike, brother.” 

The lion looked at him earnestly, and then 


66 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


dipped his nose into the porridge with a 
grunt. He ate it all, and found it not so very 
bad. So next he tried the greens. They were 
a poor dessert, he thought ; but he finished the 
dish, and then lay down on the hearth feeling 
very tired. 

Jerome was delighted, for he had grown 
fond of the lion and wanted to keep him. So 
he hurried back to the dining-hall and 
showed the empty dishes to the Abbot. That 
settled the lion’s fate. Thenceforth he be- 
came a member of the monastery. He ate 
with the other monks in the great hall, having 
his own private trencher and bowl beside 
Jerome. And he grew to like the mild fare of 
the good brothers — at least he never sought 
for anything different. 

He slept outside the door of his master’s 
cell and guarded the monastery like a faithful 
watch-dog. The monks grew fond of him and 
petted him so that he lived a happy life on 
the hill, with never a wish to go back to the 
desert with its thorns. 


Part II 

The Trial of Leo 

Wherever Jerome went the lion went also. 
Best of all, Leo enjoyed their daily duty of 
drawing water from the river. 

One day they had gone as usual, Jerome, 
the lion, and the stupid donkey who was car- 
rying the filled jar on his back. They were 
jogging comfortably home, when a poor man 
came running out of a tiny hut near the river. 
He begged Jerome to come with him and try 
to cure his sick baby. 

“Stay, brother,” Jerome said to Leo; 
“stay and watch the foolish donkey.” And 
he went with the man, feeling sure that the 
lion would be faithful. 

Now Leo meant to do his duty, but it was a 
hot and sleepy day, and he was very tired. 
He lay down beside the donkey and kept one 
eye upon him, closing the other one just for a 
minute. But this is a dangerous thing to do. 
Before he knew it, the other eye began to 
wink; and the next moment Leo was sound 
asleep, snoring with his head on his paws. 
Just then there came along a thief of a camel- 


68 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


driver, with a band of horses and asses. He 
saw the donkey grazing and he said to him- 
self, “Aha! A fine little donkey. I will add 
him to my caravan and no one will be the 
wiser.” Seizing Silly by the halter, he first 
cut away the water- jar, and then rode off 
with him as fast as he could gallop. 

Now the sound of pattering feet wakened 
Leo. He jumped up with a roar just in time 
to see the camel-driver’s face as he glanced 
back from the top of the next hill. Leo ran 
wildly about sniffing for the donkey; but 
when he found that he had really disappeared, 
he knew the camel-driver must have stolen 
him. He was terribly angry. He stood by the 
water- jar and roared and lashed his tail as he 
remembered the thief’s wicked face. 

Now in the midst of his rage out came 
Jerome. He found Leo roaring and foaming 
at the mouth, his red-rimmed eyes looking 
very fierce. And the donkey was gone — only 
the water- jar lay spilling on the ground. 
Then Jerome made a great mistake. He 
thought that poor Leo had grown tired of liv- 
ing on porridge and greens, and had tried 
fresh donkey-meat for a change. 

“Oh, you wicked lion!” he cried, “you 
have eaten poor Silly. What shall I do to 
punish you?” Then Leo roared louder than 


SAINT JEROME AND THE LION 69 


ever with shame and sorrow. But he could 
not speak to tell how it had happened. 

The Saint was very sad. Tears stood in 
his kind eyes. “You will have to be the 
donkey now,” he said ; “you will have to do 
his part of the work since he is now a part 
of you. Come, stand up and let me fasten 
the water-jar upon your back.” He spoke 
sternly and even switched Leo with his olive 
stick. 

Leo had never been treated like this. He 
was King of Beasts, and it was a shame for a 
king to do donkey’s work. His eyes flashed, 
and he had half a mind to refuse and to run 
away. Then he looked at the good man and 
remembered how he had taken out that cruel 
thorn. So he hung his head and stood still to 
be harnessed in the donkey’s place. 

Slowly and painfully Leo carried the water- 
jar up the hill. But worse than all it was to 
feel that his dear master was angry with him. 
Jerome told the story to the other monks, and 
they were even more angry than he had been, 
for they did not love Leo so well. 

They all agreed that poor Leo must be 
punished; so they treated him exactly as if 
he were a mean, silly donkey. They gave him 
only oats and water to eat, and made him do 
all Silly’s work. They would no longer let 


70 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


him sleep outside his master’s door, but they 
tied him in a lonesome stall in the stable. 

It was a sad time for Leo. He was growing 
thinner and thinner. His mane was rough 
and tangled because he had no heart to keep 
it smooth. And there were several white hairs 
in his beautiful whiskers. He had been hoping 
that something would happen to show that it 
was all a mistake; but it seemed as though the 
world was against him, and truth was dead. 

It was a sad time for Jerome, too. He still 
loved Leo, though he knew the lion must be 
punished for the dreadful deed which he was 
believed to have done. 

One day he had to go some distance to a 
neighboring town to buy provisions. As usual, 
he took Leo with him to bring back the bur- 
den, but they did not speak all the way. 
Jerome had done the errands which he had 
come to do, and was fastening the basket on 
each side of the lion’s back. 

Suddenly the lion growled and began to 
lash his tail, quivering like a cat ready to 
spring on a mouse. A train of camels was 
passing at the moment, and Leo had seen at 
their head a mean, wicked face which he re- 
membered. And as the last of the caravan 
went by, Leo caught sight of Silly himself, 
the missing donkey of the monastery. 


SAINT JEROME AND THE LION 71 

At the sound of Leo’s growl, Silly pricked 
up his ears and stood on his forelegs. Then 
the camel-driver came running up to see what 
was the matter with his stolen donkey. But 
when he came face to face with Leo, whose 
yellow eyes were glaring terribly, the thief 
trembled and turned pale. For he remem- 
bered the dreadful roar which had followed 
him that day as he had galloped across the 
sand holding Silly’s halter. 

All this time Jerome had been wondering 
at the lion’s strange behavior. But when he 
saw Leo seize the donkey’s bridle, he began 
to suspect the truth. He ran up and examined 
the donkey carefully. 

Then Leo looked up in his face and growled 
softly, as if to say: — 

“Here is your old donkey, safe and sound. 
You see I did n’t eat him, after all. That is 
the real thief.” Turning to the camel-driver, 
he showed his teeth and looked so fierce that 
the man hid behind a camel, crying, “Take 
away the lion ! Kill the wicked lion ! ” 

But Jerome seized Silly by the bridle. 
“This is my beast,” he said, “and I shall lead 
him home with me. You stole him, thief, and 
my noble lion has found you out.” And he 
laid his hand tenderly on Leo’s head. 

“He is mine! You shall not have him!” 


72 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

cried the camel-driver, trying to drag the 
donkey away from Jerome. But with a dread- 
ful roar, Leo sprang upon him. With his great 
paw he knocked him down and sat upon his 
stomach. 

“Do not hurt him, Leo,” said Jerome 
gently. But to the camel-driver he was very 
stern. “Look out, sir thief,” he said, “how 
you steal again the donkey of an honest man. 
Even the yellow beasts of the desert know 
better than that, and will make you ashamed. 
Be thankful that you escape so easily.” 

Then he took the baskets from Leo’s back 
and bound them upon Silly. When they were 
all ready to start, Jerome called Leo, and he 
got up from the chest of the camel-driver. 
There he had been sitting all this time, wash- 
ing his face with his paws and smiling. 

“My poor old Leo!” said Jerome, with 
tears in his eyes; “I have made you suffer 
cruelly for a crime of which you were not 
guilty. But I will make it up to you.” 

Then happily the three set out for home. 
All the way Jerome kept his arm about the 
neck of his lion, who was wild with joy be- 
cause he and his dear master were friends once 
more. 

They had a joyful reception at the monas- 
tery on the hill. Every one petted Leo and 


SAINT JEROME AND THE LION 73 


gave him so many good things to eat that he 
almost burst with fatness. They made him a 
soft bed, and all the monks took turns in 
scratching his chin for ten minutes at a time, 
which was what Leo loved better than any- 
thing else in the world. 

And so he dwelt happily with the good 
monks, one of the most honored brothers of 
the monastery. And at last after many, many 
years, they grew old together, and very tired 
and sleepy. One night Jerome lay gently 
down to rest, and never woke in the morning. 
But the great lion loved him so that when 
they laid him to sleep under a beautiful plane- 
tree in the garden, Leo lay down upon the 
mound moaning and grieving, and would not 
move. So his faithful heart broke that day, 
and he, too, slept forever by his dear master’s 
side. 

But this was not a sad thing that happened. 
For think how dreadful the days would have 
been for Leo without Jerome. And think how 
sad a life Jerome would have spent if Leo had 
left him first. Oh, no; it was not sad, but 
very, very beautiful that the dear Saint and 
his friendly beast could be happy together all 
the day, and when the long night came they 
could sleep together side by side in the garden. 

Abbie Farwell Brown. 


MODERN FAIRY TALES 


THE KNIGHTS OF THE SILVER 
SHIELD 1 

There was once a splendid castle in a for- 
est, with great stone walls and a high gate- 
way, and turrets that rose away above the 
tallest trees. The forest was dark and dan- 
gerous, and many cruel giants lived in it; but 
in the castle was a company of knights, who 
were kept there by the King of the country, to 
help travelers who might be in the forest, and 
to fight with the giants whenever they could. 

Each of these knights wore a beautiful suit 
of armor and carried a long spear, while over 
his helmet there floated a great red plume 
that could be seen a long way off by any one 
in distress. But the most wonderful things 
about the knights’ armor were their shields. 
They were not like those of other knights, but 
had been made by a great magician who had 
lived in the castle many years before. They 
were made of silver, and sometimes shone in 
the sunlight with dazzling brightness; but at 
other times the surface of the shields would be 

1 Copyright , 1908. Used by special permission of the publish- 
ers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company. 


THE KNIGHTS OF THE SILVER SHIELD 75 


clouded as though by a mist, and one could 
not see his face reflected there as he could 
when they shone brightly. 

Now, when each knight received his spurs 
and his armor, a new shield was also given 
him from among those that the magician had 
made; and when the shield was new its surface 
was always cloudy and dull. But as the knight 
began to do service against the giants, or went 
on expeditions to help poor travelers in the 
forest, his shield grew brighter and brighter, 
so that he could see his face clearly reflected 
in it. But if he proved to be a lazy or cow- 
ardly knight, and let the giants get the bet- 
ter of him, or did not care what became 
of the travelers, then the shield grew more 
and more cloudy, until the knight became 
ashamed to carry it. 

But this was not all. When any one of the 
knights fought a particularly hard battle and 
won the victory, or when he went on some 
hard errand for the lord of the castle and was 
successful, not only did his silver shield grow 
brighter, but when one looked into the center 
of it he could see something like a golden star 
shining in its very heart. This was the great- 
est honor that a knight could achieve, and 
the other knights always spoke of such a one 
as having “won his star.” It was usually not 


76 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


till he was pretty old and tried as a soldier 
that he could win it. At the time when this 
story begins, the lord of the castle himself was 
the only one of the knights whose shield bore 
the golden star. 

There came a time when the worst of the 
giants in the forest gathered themselves to- 
gether to have a battle against the knights. 
They made a camp in a dark hollow not far 
from the castle, and gathered all their best 
warriors together, and all the knights made 
ready to fight them. The windows of the cas- 
tle were closed and barred; the air was full of 
the noise of armor being made ready for use; 
and the knights were so excited that they 
could scarcely rest or eat. 

Now there was a young knight in the cas- 
tle, named Sir Roland, who was among those 
most eager for the battle. He was a splen- 
did warrior, with eyes that shone like stars 
whenever there was anything to do in the 
way of knightly deeds. And though he was 
still quite young, his shield had begun to 
shine enough to show plainly that he had done 
bravely in some of his errands through the 
forest. This battle, he thought, would be 
the great opportunity of his life. And on the 
morning of the day when they were to go 
forth to it, and all the knights assembled in 


THE KNIGHTS OF THE SILVER SHIELD 77 


the great hall of the castle to receive the com- 
mands of their leaders, Sir Roland hoped that 
he would be put in the most dangerous place 
of all, so that he could show what knightly 
stuff he was made of. 

But when the lord of the castle came to 
him, as he went about in full armor giving his 
commands, he said: “One brave knight must 
stay behind and guard the gateway of the 
castle, and it is you. Sir Roland, being one 
of the youngest, whom I have chosen for 
this.” 

At these words Sir Roland was so disap- 
pointed that he bit his lip, and closed his hel- 
met over his face so that the other knights 
might not see it. For a moment he felt as if 
he must reply angrily to the commander, and 
tell him that it was not right to leave so 
sturdy a knight behind, when he was eager 
to fight. But he struggled against this feel- 
ing, and went quietly to look after his duties 
at the gate. The gateway was high and nar- 
row, and was reached from outside by a high, 
narrow bridge that crossed the moat which 
surrounded the castle on every side. When an 
enemy approached, the knight on guard rang 
a great bell just inside the gate, and the 
bridge was drawn up against the castle wall, 
so that no one could come across the moat. 


78 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

So the giants had long ago given up trying to 
attack the castle itself. 

To-day the battle was to be in the dark 
hollow in the forest, and it was not likely that 
there would be anything to do at the castle 
gate, except to watch it like a common door- 
keeper. It was not strange that Sir Roland 
thought some one else might have done this. 

Presently all the other knights marched 
out in their flashing armor, their red plumes 
waving over their heads, and their spears in 
their hands. The lord of the castle stopped 
only to tell Sir Roland to keep guard over the 
gate until they all returned, and to let no one 
enter. Then they went into the shadows of 
the forest, and were soon lost to sight. 

Sir Roland stood looking after them long 
after they had gone, thinking how happy he 
would be if he were on the way to battle like 
them. But after a little he put this out of his 
mind, and tried to think of pleasanter things. 
It was a long time before anything happened, 
or any word came from the battle. 

At last Sir Roland saw one of the knights 
come limping down the path to the castle, 
and he went out on the bridge to meet him. 
Now this knight was not a brave one, and he 
had been frightened away as soon as he was 
wounded. 


THE KNIGHTS OF THE SILVER SHIELD 79 


“I have been hurt,” he said, “so that I 
cannot fight any more. But I could watch 
the gate for you, if you would like to go back 
in my place.” 

At first Sir Roland’s heart leaped with joy 
at this, but then he remembered what the 
commander had told him on going away, and 
he said : — 

“I should like to go, but a knight belongs 
where his commander has put him. My place 
is here at the gate, and I cannot open it even 
for you. Your place is at the battle.” 

The knight was ashamed when he heard 
this, and he presently turned about and went 
into the forest again. 

So Sir Roland kept guard silently for an- 
other hour. Then there came an old beggar- 
woman down the path to the castle, and asked 
Sir Roland if she might come in and have 
some food. He told her that no one could en- 
ter the castle that day, but that he would 
send a servant out to her with food, and that 
she might sit and rest as long as she would. 

“ I have been past the hollow in the forest 
where the battle is going on,” said the old 
woman, while she was waiting for her food. 

“And how do you think it is going?” asked 
Sir Roland. 

“Badly for the knights, I am afraid,” said 


80 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


the old woman. “The giants are fighting as 
they have never fought before. I should think 
you had better go and help your friends.” 

“I should like to, indeed,” said Sir Roland. 
“But I am set to guard the gateway of the 
castle, and cannot leave.” 

“One fresh knight would make a great 
difference when they are all weary with 
fighting,” said the old woman. “I should 
think that, while there are no enemies about, 
you would be much more useful there.” 

“You may well think so,” said Sir Roland, 
“and so may I; but it is neither you nor I 
that is commander here.” 

“I suppose,” said the old woman then, 
“that you are one of the kind of knights who 
like to keep out of fighting. You are lucky 
to have so good an excuse for staying at 
home.” And she laughed a thin and taunting 
laugh. 

Then Sir Roland was very angry, and 
thought that if it were only a man instead of 
a woman, he would show whether he liked 
fighting or no. But as it was a woman, he 
shut his lips and set his teeth hard together, 
and as the servant came just then with the 
food he had sent for, he gave it to the old 
woman quickly, and shut the gate that she 
might not talk to him any more./' 


THE KNIGHTS OF THE SILVER SHIELD 81 

It was not very long before he heard some 
one calling outside. Sir Roland opened the 
gate, and saw standing at the other end of 
the drawbridge a little old man in a long black 
cloak. 

“Why are you knocking here?” he said. 
“The castle is closed to-day.” 

“Are you Sir Roland?” said the little old 
man. 

“Yes,” said Sir Roland. 

“Then you ought not to be staying here 
when your commander and his knights are 
having so hard a struggle with the giants, and 
when you have the chance to make of your- 
self the greatest knight in this kingdom. 
Listen to me! I have brought you a magic 
sword.” 

As he said this, the old man drew from un- 
der his coat a wonderful sword that flashed 
in the sunlight as if it were covered with 
diamonds. “This is the sword of all swords,” 
he said, “and it is for you, if you will leave 
your idling here by the castle gate, and carry 
it to the battle. Nothing can stand before 
it. When you lift it, the giants will fall back, 
your master will be saved, and you will be 
crowned the victorious knight — the one who 
will soon take his commander’s place as lord 
of the castle.” 


82 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


Now Sir Roland believed that it was a 
magician who was speaking to him, for it 
certainly appeared to be a magic sword. It 
seemed so wonderful that the sword should 
be brought to him that he reached out his 
hand as though he would take it, and the lit- 
tle old man came forward as though he would 
cross the drawbridge into the castle. But as 
he did so, it came to Sir Roland’s mind again 
that that bridge and the gateway had been 
entrusted to him, and he called out “No!” to 
the old man, so that he stopped where he was 
standing. But he waved the shining sword in 
the air again, and said: “It is for you! Take 
it, and win the victory ! ” 

Sir Roland was really afraid that if he 
looked any longer at the sword, or listened to 
any more words of the old man, he would not 
be able to hold himself within the castle. For 
this reason he struck the great bell at the 
gateway, which was the signal for the servants 
inside to pull in the chains of the drawbridge, 
and instantly they began to pull, and the 
drawbridge came up, so that the old man 
could not cross it to enter the castle, nor Sir 
Roland to go out. 

Then, as he looked across the moat, Sir 
Roland saw a wonderful thing. The little old 
man threw off his black cloak, and as he did 


THE KNIGHTS OF THE SILVER SHIELD 83 


so he began to grow bigger and bigger, until 
in a minute more he was a giant as tall as 
any in the forest. At first Sir Roland could 
scarcely believe his eyes. Then he realized 
that this must be one of their giant enemies, 
who had changed himself to a little old man 
through some magic power, that he might 
make his way into the castle while all the 
knights were away. Sir Roland shuddered to 
think what might have happened if he had 
taken the sword and left the gate unguarded. 
The giant shook his fist across the moat that 
lay between them, and then, knowing that he 
could do nothing more, he went angrily back 
into the forest. 

Sir Roland now resolved not to open the 
gate again, and to pay no attention to any 
other visitor. But it was not long before he 
heard a sound that made him spring forward 
in joy. It was the bugle of the lord of the 
castle, and there came sounding after it the 
bugles of many of the knights that were with 
him, pealing so joyfully that Sir Roland was 
sure they were safe and happy. As they 
came nearer, he could hear their shouts of 
victory. So he gave the signal to let down 
the drawbridge again, and went out to meet 
them. They were dusty and blood-stained 
and weary, but they had won the battle with 


84 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


the giants; and it had been such a great 
victory that there had never been a happier 
home-coming. 

Sir Roland greeted them all as they passed 
in over the bridge, and then, when he had 
closed the gate and fastened it, he followed 
them into the great hall of the castle. The 
lord of the castle took his place on the highest 
seat, with the other knights about him, and 
Sir Roland came forward with the key of the 
gate, to give his account of what he had done 
in the place to which the commander had 
appointed him. The lord of the castle bowed 
to him as a sign for him to begin, but, just 
as he opened his mouth to speak, one of the 
knights cried out : — 

“The shield! The shield! Sir Roland’s 
shield!” 

Every one turned and looked at the shield 
which Sir Roland carried on his left arm. He 
himself could see only the top of it, and did 
not know what they could mean. But what 
they saw was the golden star of knighthood 
shining brightly from the center of Sir 
Roland’s shield. There had never been such 
amazement in the castle before. 

Sir Roland knelt before the lord of the castle 
to receive his commands. He still did not 
know why every one was looking at him so 


THE KNIGHTS OF THE SILVER SHIELD 85 

excitedly, and wondered if he had in some way 
done wrong. 

“Speak, Sir Knight,” said the commander, 
as soon as he could find his voice after his 
surprise, “and tell us all that has happened 
to-day at the castle. Have you been at- 
tacked? Have any giants come hither? Did 
you fight them alone? ” 

“No, my lord,” said Sir Roland. “Only 
one giant has been here, and he went away 
silently when he found he could not enter.” 

Then he told all that had happened through 
the day. 

When he had finished, the knights all 
looked at one another, but no one spoke a 
word. Then they looked again at Sir Ro- 
land’s shield, to make sure that their eyes 
had not deceived them, and there the golden 
star was still shining. 

After a little silence the lord of the castle 
spoke. 

“Men make mistakes,” he said, “but our 
silver shields are never mistaken. Sir Roland 
has fought and won the hardest battle of all 
to-day.” 

Then the others all rose and saluted Sir 
Roland, who was the youngest knight that 
ever carried the golden star. 

Raymond Macdonald Alden. 


86 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


TIMOTHY’S SHOES 

The Fairy Godmother 

Timothy’s mother had a fairy godmother, 
who loved her dearly. When Timothy’s oldest 
brother, the first baby of the family, was born, 
the godmother called to see her goddaughter. 

“The baby is a fine boy, my dear. If you 
will let me know when his christening-day 
comes, I will give him a present,” said she. 

Then the old lady kissed the young mother, 
mounted her broomstick, and rode away. 

On christening-day the godmother was 
there bright and early. She was dressed in 
plum-colored satin and held a small brown- 
paper parcel in her hand. “Mine is a small 
present, my love,” she said, “but I trust it 
will prove useful.” 

When the parcel was opened, the fairy 
handed the young mother — a small pair of 
strong leather shoes , copper-toed and heeled . 
“They will never wear out, my dear, so every 
one of your children may wear them in turn,” 
she said. 

Some of the guests whispered to each other 
that this was a very mean gift. But Timothy’s 
mother did not think so. She took the shoes 
and thanked the old lady very pleasantly. 


TIMOTHY’S SHOES 


87 


Later in the day, when the other guests 
had gone, the godmother said to the young 
mother: “My little gift is not so shabby as it 
looks. Let me tell you the secret of the shoes. 
The little feet that are in them cannot easily 
go wrong. If your boy wishes to play truant, 
the shoes will pinch his feet till he has to go 
in the right way. They will also bring him 
home at the right time. But my broomstick 
is at the door, I must go. Farewell, my love.” 
And mounting her steed, the fairy was off 
through the air. 

Kingcups 

As years went by, the mother learned the 
full value of the little shoes. Her nine boys 
wore them in turn, but they never wore them 
out. So long as the fairy shoes were on their 
feet they were sure to go where they were sent 
and to come back when they were wanted. 
At last they reached the ninth and youngest 
boy, and became Timothy’s shoes. 

Now the eighth boy had very small feet, so 
he had worn the shoes rather longer, and 
Timothy got them somewhat later than usual. 
Consequently Master Timothy was willful 
and his little feet pretty well used to taking 
their own way, before he stepped into the fairy 
shoes. But he played truant from school and 


88 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


was late to dinner so often, that at last his 
mother resolved to bear it no longer. One 
morning the leather shoes were brightly 
blacked and the copper tips polished, and 
Master Tim was duly shod. 

“Now, Tim, dear, I know you will be a 
good boy,” said his mother. “And mind you 
don’t play truant, for if you do these shoes 
will pinch you horribly, and you’ll be sure 
to be found out.” 

Tim’s mother held him by his right arm, 
and Tim’s left arm and both legs were already 
as far away as he could stretch them. At last 
the good woman let go her hold, and Tim 
went off like an arrow from a bow. 

The past winter had been very cold, but 
May had come with her sunshine and flowers. 
Down in the dark marsh the kingcups shone 
like gold. When Tim looked down and saw 
them, he forgot school. He flung his school- 
bag on the grass, and began to scramble down 
the bank. 

But though he turned his feet toward the 
kingcups, the shoes seemed resolved to go 
to school. In going toward the marsh, he 
suffered such twinges that he thought his 
feet must have been wrenched off. But Tim 
was a very resolute little fellow; he dragged 
himself, shoes and all, down to the marsh. 


TIMOTHY’S SHOES 


89 


And now he could not find a kingcup within 
reach. As Tim wandered round the marsh, — 
jerk, wrench, — oh, dear! every step he took 
was like a painful shock. At last he fairly 
jumped into a brilliant clump that looked 
quite near, and was at once ankle-deep in 
water. Then to his delight the wet mud 
sucked the shoes off his feet, and he waded 
about among the rushes, reeds, and kingcups, 
sublimely happy. 

At last Tim began to feel tired. Then, too, 
he had hurt his foot with a sharp stump. So 
he scrambled out, and thought he would go 
to school. 

Soon he entered the school and found him- 
self under the teacher’s very eye. But Tim 
heeded not her frown, nor the titters of the 
children. His eyes were fixed upon the school- 
room floor, where — in Tim’s proper place in 
the class — stood the little leather shoes, very 
muddy, and with a kingcup in each. 

“You’ve been into the marsh, Timothy,” 
said the teacher. “Put on your shoes.” 

You may believe that when Tim’s punish- 
ment and his lessons were over he let the shoes 
take him quietly home. 


90 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


The Shoes at School 

When Timothy’s mother heard how he had 
been into the marsh, she decided to send him 
at once to a real boys’ school. So he was sent 
to live with Dr. Dixon Airey, who kept a 
school on the moors. And Timothy’s shoes 
went with him. 

Dr. Airey had one other teacher in his 
school. He was called an Usher. 

The Usher was a gentleman who had very 
long legs and used very long words. He wore 
common spectacles on work days, and green 
ones on Sundays and holidays. 

On the whole Timothy liked being at 
school. Saturday was a half-holiday, and the 
boys were allowed to ramble off on long 
country walks. If they had been very good, 
they were allowed to take out Nardy. This 
was the Doctor’s St. Bernard dog. The Doc- 
tor called him “Bernardus,” but the boys 
called him “Nardy.” 

Sometimes, too, the Usher would take one 
or two boys for a treat to the neighboring 
town. Altogether Timothy would have been 
happy but for the shoes. 

In some ways the shoes were of use. When 
Tim first came to the school, there was a big 
bully there who treated the small boys cruelly. 


TIMOTHY’S SHOES 


91 


One day he was abusing Bramble minor. 
Suddenly Timothy rushed at him and kicked 
him so severely with his copper toes that the 
bully did not get over it for a week. Then in 
races and all swift games, Timothy’s shoes 
brought him out ahead. But they made him 
uneasy whenever he went wrong, and left 
him no peace till he went right. 

When Timothy went down in class, his 
shoes were never content to stay there. They 
pinched his poor feet till he shuffled them off. 
Then they pattered back to Tim’s proper 
place. There they stayed till, for very shame, 
Tim worked his way back to them again. 

At last Tim made up his mind to get rid of 
the fairy shoes. “But how shall I do it?” he 
said. 

“I know,” said his friend Bramble minor. 
“Give your shoes to some one who wants 
them. Then they’ll be kept fast enough, you 
may be sure!” 

One day the Usher invited Timothy to 
walk to the town with him. It was a holiday. 
The Usher wore his green spectacles and Tim 
had a few shillings of pocket-money. 

Just as they entered the first street a 
ragged little boy ran beside them, and as he 
ran he talked. It was all about his bare feet 
and he spoke with a whine. And Timothy 


92 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

thought, “My shoes would fit that barefooted 
boy.” 

As the Usher had business in the town, he 
left Timothy to amuse himself for a while. 
Soon Timothy came to a bootmaker’s shop. 
In the window he saw a charming little pair of 
boots just his own size. 

Presently Timothy went into the shop and 
bought the boots. It took all his money, even 
to the last penny. When he came out of the 
shop, the ragged boy was there. 

Timothy stooped down and took off the 
little leather shoes. “I will give you these 
shoes, boy, if you will promise not to lose 
them, nor to give them away.” 

“Catch me!” cried the ragged boy as he 
snatched the shoes. Then he ran down the 
street as fast as he could go. Timothy’s shoes 
were really gone! 

Timothy put on the new boots, and went to 
meet the Usher. “Let us go up this street and 
look at the shops,” said the Usher. They 
found a small crowd round the window of a 
picture shop. Outside the crowd was the 
ragged boy, but Tim and the Usher did not 
see him. 

They squeezed in through the crowd and 
saw the picture. There was a great deal of 
pushing. Tim and the Usher had to stand 


TIMOTHY’S SHOES 


93 


arm-in-arm to keep together at all. Just then 
the ragged boy put his hand into the Usher’s 
pocket and took out his silver watch. The 
Usher felt the hand, but he thought it was 
Tim’s arm that seemed to press his side. As 
for Tim, he thought what he felt was the 
Usher’s arm. 

But just as the boy seized the watch the 
shoes gave him such a pinch that he started 
in spite of himself. In his start he jerked the 
Usher’s waistcoat. The Usher clapped his 
hand to his side. His watch was gone! 

“My watch has been stolen!” cried the 
Usher, and as he turned round the ragged 
boy fled. Tim, the Usher, and the crowd ran 
after him crying, “Stop thief!” At the top 
of the street they met a policeman. 

Now, if the ragged boy had been still bare- 
foot, no one could ever have stopped him. 
But how could he run with the shoes wrench- 
ing and jerking as they did? Just as he was 
turning a corner, the shoes gave one violent 
twist that turned him right round, and he 
ran straight into the policeman’s arms. 

The policeman whipped out the watch, and 
gave it back to the Usher. The ragged boy 
yelled, and bit the policeman’s hand, but the 
policeman never lost his temper. He only held 
the ragged boy by the collar of his jacket. 


04 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


Then the ragged boy shook the shoes off 
his feet, drew his arms in, and ducked his 
head. Next he gave one wriggle, dived, and 
fled away like the wind. His tattered jacket 
was left in the policeman’s hands. 

The policeman was very angry, but the 
Usher said he was very glad. He gave the 
policeman a shilling for his trouble. Then 
Timothy went to the bootmaker, who agreed 
to take back the boots. The copper-toed shoes 
Timothy wore home. 

The Snowstorm 

When Timothy went back to school in the 
beginning of the year, the snow lay deep upon 
the moors. On the ice Timothy’s shoes were 
a joy to him, for they made him the best 
skater and slider in the school. 

One day the Usher took him and Bramble 
minor for a long walk over the hills. In turn- 
ing homewards they were later than they had 
intended, and soon after a little snow began 
to fall. 

It was small snow, and fell very quietly. 
But though it fell so quietly, it was wonder- 
ful how soon the walls and gates got covered. 

The Usher thought it wise to get home as 
quickly as possible, so he proposed a short 


TIMOTHY’S SHOES 


95 


cut across the moors. They climbed a wall, 
and ploughed their way through the un- 
trodden snow, and their hands and feet grew 
numb. At last Timothy fairly cried. He said 
that, besides the biting of the frost, his shoes 
pinched and pulled at his feet. 

“It’s because we are not on the highroad,” 
said the Usher; “but in five minutes we shall 
strike the right road again, and then the shoes 
will be all right. Bear it for a few minutes 
longer if you can, Tim.” 

But Tim found it so hard to bear that the 
Usher took him on his back while Bramble 
minor carried his shoes. Five minutes passed, 
but they did not strike the road. Five min- 
utes more passed, and the Usher said, “Boys, 
we’ve lost our way. I see nothing for it but 
to put Timothy’s shoes down and follow 
them.” 

So Bramble minor put the shoes down, and 
they started off to the left, and the Usher and 
the boys followed them. 

But the shoes tripped lightly over the top 
of the snow, and went very fast, and the 
Usher and Bramble minor waded slowly 
through it. In a few minutes the shoes dis- 
appeared into the snowstorm, and they lost 
sight of them altogether. 

\ Then Bramble minor said; “I cannot go 


96 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


any farther. I don’t mind being left, but I 
must lie down, I am so very, very tired.” 

Then the Usher woke Timothy, and made 
him put on Bramble minor’s boots and walk. 
He took Bramble minor on his back, and 
made Timothy take hold of his coat, and they 
struggled on through the storm. 

“How are you getting on, Timothy?” 
asked the Usher after a long silence. “Don’t 
be afraid of holding on to me, my boy.” 

But Timothy gave no answer. 

“Keep a brave heart, laddie!” cried the 
Usher cheerfully. 

Still there was silence, and when he looked 
round, Timothy was not there . 

When and where he had lost his hold the 
Usher had no idea. He shouted in vain. 

“How could I let him take off the shoes!” 
groaned the poor man. “Oh! what shall I do? 
Shall I struggle on to save this boy’s life, or 
risk all our lives by turning back after the 
other?” 

He turned round as he spoke, and the wild 
blast and driving snow struck him in the face. 
The darkness fell rapidly, the drifts grew 
deeper, and yet the Usher went after Timothy. 

And he found him, but too late, — for his 
own strength was gone, and the snow was 
three feet all around him. 


TIMOTHY’S SHOES 


97 


Bernardus on Duty 

When the snow first began to fall. Dr. 
Dixon Airey, said, “Our friends will get a 
sprinkling of sugar this evening.” Then all 
the boys laughed, for this was one of Dr. 
Airey’s winter jokes. 

When it got dusk, and the storm thickened. 
Dr. Dixon Airey said: “I think they must 
have remained at the farm. Very wise and 
proper.” And he drew the study curtains, and 
took up a newspaper, and rang for tea. 

But the Doctor could not eat his tea, and 
he did not read his paper. Every five minutes 
he opened the front door and looked out, and 
all was dark and silent. 

But when the Doctor opened the door for 
the seventh time, Timothy’s shoes ran in, and 
they were filled with snow. And when the 
Doctor saw them, he covered his face with his 
hands. 

In a moment more he had sent his man- 
servant to the village for help, and he was 
tying on his comforter and cap, and fastening 
his leggings and greatcoat. Then he took his 
lantern and went out into the yard. 

And there lay Bernardus with his big nose 
at the door of his kennel smelling the storm. 
And when he saw the light and heard foot- 


98 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


steps, his great melancholy eyes brightened, 
and he moaned with joy. And when the men 
from the village came up and moved about 
with shovels and lanterns, he was nearly 
frantic, for he thought, “This looks like 
business/’ 

Then the Doctor unfastened the chain, and 
he tied Timothy’s shoes round the dog’s neck, 
saying, “Perhaps they will help to lead the 
dog aright.” Bernardus started off without a 
moment’s pause. The men followed him as 
fast as they could, and from time to time 
Bernardus would look around to see if they 
were coming, and would wait for them. But 
if he saw the lanterns he was satisfied and 
went on. 

“There’s some ’at amiss,” said a laborer 
presently, “the dog’s whining; he’s stuck 
fast.” 

“Or perhaps he has found something,” said 
the Doctor, trembling. 

The Doctor was right. He had found 
Timothy, and Bramble minor, and the Usher; 
and they were still alive. 

“Mrs. Airey,” said the Doctor, as, an hour 
later, they sat round the study fire wrapped 
in blankets, and drinking tumblers of hot 
lemonade — “Mrs. Airey, that is a creature 


TIMOTHY’S SHOES 


99 


above kennels. From this eventful evening I 
wish him to sleep under our roof.” 

And Mrs. Airey began, “Bless him!” and 
then burst into tears. 

And Bernardus, who lay with his large eyes 
upon the fire, rejoiced in the depths of his 
doggish heart. 


The Shoes go Home 

After this you may be sure that Timothy 
loved his shoes. He would no more have 
parted with them now than Dr. Dixon Airey 
would have parted with the dog Bernardus. 

But alas ! it was a painful fact, that Timothy 
was outgrowing his shoes. 

He was at home when the day came on 
which the old leather shoes into which he 
could no longer squeeze his feet were polished 
for the last time, and put away in a cupboard 
in his mother’s room. Timothy blacked them 
with his own hands, and the tears were in his 
eyes as he put them on the shelf. 

“Good-bye, good little friends,” said he; 
“I will try and walk as you have taught me.” 

Timothy’s mother could not sleep that 
night for thinking of the shoes in the cup- 
board. “Ah,” she thought, “how wise the 
good godmother was! No money, no good 


100 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


luck, would have done for my boys what these 
shoes have done.” 

Her thoughts kept her awake till dawn. The 
sun was just rising, when the good woman 
was startled by the sound of a child jumping 
down from some height to the floor. 

The cupboard door swung slowly open, and 
Timothy’s shoes came out and ran across the 
floor. They paused for an instant by his 
mother’s bed, as if to say farewell, and then 
the bedroom door opened also and let them 
pass. Down the stairs they went, and they 
ran with that music of a childish patter that 
no foot in the house could make now; and the 
mother sobbed to hear it for the last time. 
Then she thought, “The house door’s locked; 
they cannot go right away yet.” 

But in that moment she heard the house 
door turn slowly on its hinges. Then she 
jumped out of bed, and ran to the window. 
The little shoes pattered through the garden, 
and the gate opened for them and shut after 
them. And they crossed the road, and went 
over the hill, leaving little footprints in the 
dew. And they passed into the morning mists, 
and were lost to sight. 

And when the sun looked over the hill, and 
dried the dew, and sent away the mists, 
Timothy’s shoes were gone. 

Juliana Horatio Ewing. (Adapted.) 


THE OGRE PLAYS JACKSTRAWS 101 


THE OGRE THAT PLAYED 
JACKSTRAWS 

Once there was a terrible giant ogre, and he 
lived in a huge castle that was built right in 
the middle of a valley. All men had to pass by 
it when they came to the King’s palace on the 
rock at the head of the valley. And they were 
all terribly afraid of the ogre, and ran just as 
fast as they could when they went by. And 
when they looked back as they were running, 
they could see the ogre sitting on the wall of 
his castle. And he scowled at them so fiercely 
that they ran as fast as ever they could. For 
the ogre had a head as large as a barrel, and 
great black eyes sunk deep under long bushy 
eyelashes. And when he opened his mouth, 
they saw that it was full of teeth, and so they 
ran away faster than ever, without caring to 
see anything more. 

And the King wanted to get rid of the ogre, 
and he sent his men to drive the ogre away 
and to tear down his castle. But the ogre 
scowled at them so savagely that their teeth 
began to fall out, and they all turned back 
and said they dare not fight such a horrid 
creature. Then Roger, the King’s son, rode 
his black horse Hurricane up against the door 
of the ogre’s castle, and struck hard against 


102 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


the door with his iron glove. Then the door 
opened and the ogre came out and seized 
Roger in one hand and the great black horse 
in the other and rubbed their heads together, 
and while he did this he made them very small 
Then he tumbled them over the wall into the 
ogre’s garden. And they crawled through a 
hole in the garden fence and they both ran 
home, Roger one way and Hurricane the 
other, and neither dared tell the King nor 
any one else where he had been, nor what the 
ogre had done to him. But it was two or three 
days before they became large again. 

Then the King sent out some men with a 
cannon to batter down the walls of the ogre’s 
castle. But the ogre sat on the wall and 
caught the cannon balls in his hand and tossed 
them back at the cannon, so that they broke 
the wheels and scared away all the men. And 
when the cannon sounded, the ogre roared so 
loudly that all the windows in the King’s 
palace were broken, and the Queen and all 
the Princesses went down into the cellar and 
hid among the sugar barrels, and stuffed 
cotton in their ears till the noise should stop. 
And whatever the King’s men tried to do the 
ogre made it worse and worse. And at last no 
one dared to go out into the valley beside the 
ogre’s castle, and no one dared look at it from 


THE OGRE PLAYS JACKSTRAWS 103 


anywhere, because when the ogre scowled all 
who saw him dropped to the ground with fear, 
and their teeth began to fall out, and when 
the ogre roared there was no one who could 
bear to hear it. 

So the King and all his men hid in the cellar 
of the castle with the Queen and the Prin- 
cesses, and they stuffed their ears full of 
cotton, and the ogre scowled and roared and 
had his own way. 

But there was one little boy named Penny- 
royal, who tended the black horse Hurricane, 
and he was not afraid of anything because he 
was a little boy. And the little boy said he 
would go out and see the ogre and tell him to 
go away. And they were all so scared that 
they could not ask him not to go. So Penny- 
royal put on his hat, filled his pockets with 
marbles, and took his kite under his arm, and 
went down the valley to the castle of the ogre. 
The ogre sat on the wall and looked at him, 
but the little boy was not afraid, and so it did 
the ogre no good to scowl. Then Pennyroyal 
knocked on the ogre’s door, and the ogre 
opened it and looked at the little boy. 

“Please, Mr. Ogre, may I come in?” said 
Pennyroyal. And the ogre opened the door, 
and the little boy began to walk around the 
castle looking at all the things. There was 


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THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


one room filled with bones, but the ogre was 
ashamed of it, and did not want to let the 
little boy see it. So when Pennyroyal was not 
looking the ogre just changed the room and 
made it small, so that instead of a room full 
of bones it became just a box of jackstraws. 
And the big elephant he had there to play 
with he made into a lap-elephant, and the 
little boy took it in his hand and stroked its 
tiny tusks and tied a knot in its trunk. And 
everything that could frighten the little boy 
the ogre made small and pretty, so that they 
had great times together. 

And by and by the ogre grew smaller and 
smaller, and took off his ugly old face with the 
long teeth and bushy eyebrows and dropped 
them on the floor and covered them with a 
wolf-skin. Then he sat down on the wolf-skin 
and the little boy sat down on the floor beside 
him, and they began to play jackstraws with 
the box of jackstraws that had been a room 
full of bones. The ogre had never been a boy 
himself, so jackstraws was the only game he 
knew how to play. Then the elephant he had 
made small snuggled down between them on 
the floor. And as they played with each other, 
the castle itself grew small, and shrank away 
until there was just room enough for their 
game. 


ARNDT’S NIGHT UNDERGROUND 105 


Up in the palace, when the ogre stopped 
roaring, the King’s men looked out and saw 
that the ogre’s castle was gone. Then Roger, 
the King’s son, called for Pennyroyal. But 
when he could not find the boy, he saddled 
the black horse Hurricane himself and rode 
down the valley to where the ogre’s castle had 
been. When he came back he told the King 
that the ogre and his castle were all gone. 
Where the castle had stood there was noth- 
ing left but a board tent under the oak tree, 
and in the tent there were just two little 
boys playing jackstraws, and between them 
on the ground lay a candy elephant. 

That was all. For the terrible ogre was one 
of those ogres that will do to folks just what 
folks do to them. There is n’t any other kind 
of ogre. 

David Starr Jordan. 

ARNDT’S NIGHT UNDERGROUND 

It was on a dreary winter’s night, just such 
a one as it may be now, — only you cannot 
see it for your closed shutters and curtains, — 
that two children were coming home from 
their daily work, for their parents were poor, 
and Arndt and Reutha had already to use 
their little hands in labor. They were very 


106 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


tired, and as they came across the moor the 
wind blew in their faces, and the distant roar- 
ing of the Baltic Sea, on whose shore they 
lived, sounded gloomy and terrible. 

“Dear Arndt, let me sit down and rest for 
a minute; I can go no farther,” said Reutha, 
as she sank down on a little mound that 
seemed to rise up invitingly, with its shelter of 
bushes, from the midst of the desolate moor. 

The elder brother tried to encourage his 
little sister, as all kind brothers should do; he 
even tried to carry her a little way; but she 
was too heavy for him, and they went back to 
the mound. Just then the moon came out, 
and the little hillock looked such a nice rest- 
ing-place that Reutha longed more than ever 
to stay. It was not a cold night, so Arndt 
was not afraid; and at last he wrapped his 
sister up in her woolen cloak, and she sat 
down. 

“I will just run a little farther and try if I 
can see the light in father’s window,” said 
Arndt. “You will not be afraid, Reutha?” 

“Oh, no! I am never afraid.” 

“And you will not go to sleep?” 

“Not I,” said Reutha. And all the while 
she rubbed her eyes to keep them open, and 
leaned her head against a branch which 
seemed to her as soft and inviting as a pillow. 


ARNDT’S NIGHT UNDERGROUND 107 


Arndt went a little way, until he saw the 
light which his father always placed so as to 
guide the children over the moor. Then he 
felt quite safe and at home, and went back 
cheerfully to his sister. 

Reutha was not there! Beside the little 
mound and among the bushes did poor 
Arndt search in terror, but he could not find 
his sister. He called her name loudly — there 
was no answer. Not a single trace of her could 
be found; and yet he had not been five minutes 
away. 

“Oh! what shall I do?” sobbed the boy; 
“I dare not go home without Reutha!” And 
there for a long time did Arndt sit by the hil- 
lock, wringing his hands and vainly expecting 
that his sister would hear him and come back. 
At last there passed by an old man, who 
traveled about the country selling ribbons 
and cloths. 

“How you are grown since I saw you last, 
my little fellow!” said the man. “And where 
is your sister Reutha?” 

Arndt burst into tears, and told his friend 
of all that had happened that night. The 
peddler’s face grew graver and graver as the 
boy told him it was on this very spot that he 
lost his little sister. 

“Arndt,” whispered he, “did you ever 


108 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


hear of the Hill-Men? It is they who have 
carried little Reutha away.” 

And then the old man told how in his young 
days he had heard strange tales of this same 
moor; for that the little mound was a fairy 
hill, where the underground dwarfs lived, and 
where they often carried off young children to 
be their servants, taking them under the hill, 
and only leaving behind their shoes. “For,” 
said the peddler, “the Hill-People are very 
particular, and will make all their servants 
wear beautiful glass shoes instead of clumsy 
leather.” 

So he and Arndt searched about the hill, 
and there, sure enough, they found Reutha’s 
tiny shoes hidden under the long grass. At 
this her brother’s tears burst forth afresh. 

“ Oh, what shall I do to bring back my poor 
sister? The Hill-Men and Women will kill 
her!” 

r “No,” said the old man, “they are very 
good little people, and they live in a beautiful 
palace underground. Truly, you will never see 
Reutha again, for they will keep her with 
them a hundred years; and when she comes 
back you will be dead and buried, while she is 
still a beautiful child.” 

And then, to comfort the boy, the peddler 
told him wonderful stories of the riches and 


ARNDT S NIGHT UNDERGROUND 109 


splendor of the Hill-People; how that some- 
times they had been seen dancing at night on 
the mounds, and how they wore green caps, 
which, if any mortal man could get possession 
of, the dwarfs were obliged to serve him and 
obey him in everything. All this Arndt drank 
in with eager ears; and when the peddler went 
away, he sat for a long time thinking. 

“I will do it,” at last he said aloud. “I will 
try to get my dear Reutha safe back again.” 

And the boy stole noiselessly to the mound 
which the Hill-Men were supposed to inhabit. 
He hid himself among the surrounding bushes, 
and there he lay in the silence and darkness, 
his young heart beating wildly, and only 
stilled by one thought that lay ever there, 
that of the lost Reutha. At last a sudden 
brightness flashed upon the boy’s eyes; it 
could not be the moon, for she had long set. 
No; but it was a sight more glorious than 
Arndt had ever dreamed of. 

The grassy hill opened, and through this 
aperture the boy saw a palace underground, 
glittering with gold and gems. The Hill- 
Men danced about within it, dressed like tiny 
men and women. Arndt thought how beauti- 
ful they were, though they seemed no bigger 
than his own baby sister of six months old. 
One by one they rose out of the opening, and 


110 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

gambolled on the snow-covered mound; but 
wherever they trod flowers sprang up, and 
the air grew light and warm as summer. 
After a while they ceased dancing and began 
ball-playing, tossing their little green caps 
about in great glee. And lo and behold! one 
of these wonderful caps, being tossed farther 
than usual, lighted on the very forehead of 
the peeping boy ! 

In a moment he snatched it and held it fast, 
with a cry of triumph. The light faded — the 
scene vanished — only Arndt heard a small, 
weak voice whispering, humbly and be- 
seechingly, in his ear. 

“Please, noble gentleman, give me my cap 
a^ain.” 

“No, no, good Hill-Man,” answered the 
courageous boy, “you have got my little 
sister, and I have got your cap, which I shall 
keep.” 

“I will give you a better cap for it — all 
gold and jewels — oh, so beautiful!” said the 
Hill-Man, persuasively. 

“I will not have it. What good would it do 
me? No, no, I am your master, good dwarf, 
as you very well know, and I command you 
to take me down in the hill with you, for I 
want to see Reutha.” 

There shone a dim light on the grass, like 


ARNDT’S NIGHT UNDERGROUND 111 


a glowworm, and then Arndt saw the elfin 
mound open again; but this time the palace 
looked like a dim, gloomy staircase. On the 
top stair stood the little Hill-Man, holding the 
glowworm lamp, and making many low bows 
to his new master. Arndt glanced rather 
fearfully down the staircase; but then he 
thought of Reutha, and his love for her made 
him grow bold. He took upon himself a lordly 
air, and bade his little servant lead the way. 

The Hill-Man took him through beautiful 
galleries, and halls, and gardens, until the 
boy’s senses were intoxicated with these lovely 
things. Every now and then he stopped, and 
asked for Reutha; but then there was always 
some new chamber to be seen, or some dainty 
banquet to be tasted; until, by degrees, 
Arndt’s memory of his little sister grew 
dimmer, and he reveled in the delights of the 
fairy palace hour after hour. When night 
came — if so it could be called in that lovely 
place, where night was only day shadowed 
over and made more delicious — the boy felt 
himself lulled by sweet music to a soft dreami- 
ness, which was all the sleep that was needed 
in that fairy paradise. 

Thus, day after day passed in all gay de- 
lights; the elfin people were the merriest in 
the world, and they did all their little master 


112 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


desired. And Arndt knew not that, while they 
surrounded him with delights, it was only to 
make him forget his errand. But one day, 
when the boy lay on a green dell in the lovely 
fairy garden, he heard a low, wailing song, 
and saw a troop of little mortal children at 
work in the distance. Some were digging ore, 
and others making jewelry, while a few stood 
in the stream that ran by, beating linen, as it 
seemed. And among these poor little maidens, 
who worked so hard and sang so mournfully, 
was his own sister Reutha. 

“No one cares for me,” she murmured; and 
her song had in it a plaintive sweetness, very 
different from the way in which the little 
Danish maiden spoke on earth. “Reutha is 
alone — her hands are sore with toil — her 
feet bleed — but no one pities her. Arndt 
sleeps in gorgeous clothes, while Reutha toils 
in rags. Arndt is the master — Reutha is the 
slave! Poor Reutha is quite alone! ” 

Even amidst the spells of fairyland that 
voice went to the brother’s heart. He called 
the Hill-People, and bade them bring Reutha 
to him. Then he kissed her, and wept over 
her, and dressed her in his own beautiful 
robes, while the Hill-Men dared not inter- 
fere. Arndt took his sister by the hand, and 
said: — 


ARNDT’S NIGHT UNDERGROUND 113 


“Now, let us go; we have stayed long 
enough. Good Hill-Man, you shall have your 
cap again when you have brought Reutha 
and me to our own father’s door.” 

But the Hill-Man shook his tiny head, 
and made his most obsequious bow. “Noble 
master, anything but this! This little maiden 
we found asleep on our hill, and she is ours for 
a hundred years.” 

Here Arndt got into a passion; for, con- 
vinced of the power the little green cap gave 
him over the dwarfs, he had long lost all fear 
of them. He stamped with his foot until the 
little man leaped up a yard high, and begged 
his master to be more patient. 

“How dare you keep my sister, you ugly 
little creatures!” cried the boy, his former 
pleasant companion becoming at once hateful 
to him. 

But the Hill-People only gave him gentle 
answers; until at last he grew ashamed of be- 
ing so angry with such tiny creatures. They 
led him to a palace, more beautiful than any 
he had yet seen, and showed him pearls and 
diamonds heaped up in basketfuls. 

“You shall take all these away with you, 
noble sir!” said his little servant. “They will 
make you a rich man all the days of your life, 
and you will live in a palace as fine as ours. 


114 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


Is that not far better than having a poor help- 
less sister to work for? ” 

But Arndt caught a glimpse of Reutha, as 
she sat outside, weeping, — she dared not 
enter with him, — and he kicked the basket 
over, and scattered the jewels like so many 
pebbles. 

“Keep all your treasures, and give me my 
sister!” cried he. 

Then the Hill-Man tried him with some- 
thing else. Arndt was a very handsome boy 
and everybody had told him so, until he was 
rather vain. Many a time, when he worked 
in the field, he used to look at himself in a 
clear, still pool, and think how golden his 
hair was, and how lithe and graceful his 
figure. Now the Hill-Man knew all this; and 
so he led the boy to a crystal mirror and 
showed him his own beautiful form, set off 
with every advantage of rich dress. And then, 
by fairy spells, Arndt saw beside it the im- 
age of the little peasant as he was when he 
entered the hill. 

“Think how different!” whispered the 
dwarf. He breathed on the mirror, and the 
boy saw himself as he would be when he 
grew up — a hard-working, laboring man; 
and opposite, the semblance of a young, 
graceful nobleman, whose face was the same 


ARNDT’S NIGHT UNDERGROUND 115 

which the stream had often told him was his 
own. 

“We can make thee always thus handsome. 
Choose which thou wilt be,” murmured the 
tempting voice. 

The boy hesitated; but at the same moment 
came that melancholy voice: “My brother is 
rich, and I am poor; he is clad in silk, and I 
in rags. Alas, for me!” 

“It shall not be!” cried the noble boy. “I 
will go out of this place as poor as I came; 
but I will take Reutha with me. I will work 
all the days of my life; but Reutha shall not 
stay here. Hill-People! I want none of your 
treasures; but I command you to give me my 
sister, and let us go ! ” 

Arndt folded his arms around Reutha, and 
walked with her through all the gorgeous 
rooms, the Hill-Men and women following 
behind, and luring him with their sweetest 
songs and most bewitching smiles. But 
Reutha’s voice and Reutha’s smile had great- 
est power of all over her brother’s heart. 

They climbed the gloomy staircase, and 
stood at the opening in the hillock. Then the 
little Hill-Man appealed once more to his 
master: — 

“Noble gentleman, remember, a life of 


116 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

labor with Reutha or one of continual pleas- 
ure alone! Think again !” 

“No, not for a moment,” said Arndt, as 
he felt the breezes of earth playing on his 
cheek. How sweet they were, even after the 
fragrant airs of elfin-land! 

“At least, kind master, give me my cap!” 
piteously implored the Hill-Man. 

“Take it; and good-bye forevermore!” 
cried Arndt, as he clasped his sister in his 
arms and leaped out. The chasm closed, and 
the two children found themselves lying in 
a snowdrift, with the gray dawn of a win- 
ter’s morning just breaking over them. 

“Where have you been all night, my chil- 
dren?” cried the anxious mother, as they 
knocked at the door. 

Had i^ indeed, been only a single night, 
the months that seemed to have passed 
while they were under the hill? They could 
not tell, for they were now like all other chil- 
dren, and their wisdom learned in fairyland 
had passed away. It seemed only a dream, 
save that the brother and sister loved each 
other better than ever, and so they contin- 
ued to do as long as they lived. 

Dinah Maria Mtjlock. 


THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL 


117 


THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL 

Once upon a time there was a little Prin- 
cess named Theodosia. One morning she 
awoke very early and, as she lay in her soft 
bed, she heard the chiming of bells. She 
clapped her hands and said: “How glad I 
am! I know what the bells are saying. It is 
Christmas morning!” 

She was so eager that she forgot to say 
her prayers. She forgot to call good-morn- 
ing to the King, her father, and the Queen, 
her mother. She slipped out of bed and ran 
barefooted down the marble stairs into the 
great palace drawing-rooms to find what 
gifts the Christmas had brought her. 

As she pushed open the heavy door, she 
heard a sound like the rustling of wings. It 
frightened her for a minute, but the Christ- 
mas bells rang clearly outside and gave her 
courage again. Presently she went boldly 
in. Ah, what a beautiful sight! It was not 
yet broad day, but there was a soft light in 
the vast room that seemed to come from a 
great white pearl that hung from the center 
of the ceiling. 

“Ah!” thought Theodosia, “how I wish 
my presents might be pearls!” 

Then she looked again, and saw around 


118 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


the hall tablets with golden letters, and on 
each was a name. There was the King’s 
name, and the Queen’s name, and the name 
of every one of the royal household. Under 
each was a heap of beautiful gifts. 

Her own name she could scarcely see, for 
it was at the other end of the long hall. She 
ran toward it, saying to herself; “I don’t 
care what other folks are going to have. I 
want to see my pretty gifts.” At last she 
came to the tablet on which her name ap- 
peared. Alas! there was nothing under it, 
— only a black leather bag. Upon it were 
these words, “This is for the selfish Theo- 
dosia.” 

Still she thought that perhaps it might 
contain something beautiful for her, and 
she quickly raised it from the floor. But it 
was locked, and there was no key. All she 
found was another inscription engraved in 
small fine letters, in the steel of the lock, “I 
am worth much to him who can open me!” 

The poor little Princess stamped her bare 
feet on the cold floor. She was ready to cry 
with vexation, only she was too proud. Sud- 
denly she saw in one of the mirrors a dazzling 
and beautiful angel standing behind her. She 
was not frightened, for, even in the glass, 
she could see that he was kind and gentle. 


THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL 


119 


His garments were white as snow, and his 
face was fairer than the fairest picture ever 
thought of in a dream. 

Little Theodosia began to grow calmer as 
she saw his soft, clear eyes fixed upon her. 
She turned to him at once and said: “I know 
who you are. You are the Christmas Angel.” 

Strange to say, at that moment she per- 
ceived that the great pearl no longer hung 
from the center of the ceiling, but shone upon 
the angel’s brow. 

He smiled a smile like sunshine, and then 
grew grave and sad. 

“Poor child!” he said, “you do not know 
the secret that unlocks all treasures. But if 
you will come with me, we will find some one 
who can tell us.” 

Then he held out his hand, and Theodosia 
put her hand in it at once, for she had no 
fear of him. Out through the door they went, 
and out through the great archway of the 
palace into the wide, wide world. It seemed 
to Theodosia that her feet scarcely touched 
the ground. In one hand she grasped tightly 
the mysterious bag, and every little while 
she looked up at the beautiful face of the 
angel, upon whose brow the great pearl 
shone like a star. 

As they passed through the quiet streets. 


120 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


they saw few people stirring. And as they 
walked, the angel began to tell her the old 
sweet story of the first Christmas Day, and 
of the Christmas gift of the child Jesus which 
the dear God made to the world He loved. 
He told how the kings and wise men came 
from far countries with rich offerings in 
their hands, and how the angels sang for 
joy. Theodosia looked up and said timidly, 
“And were you there?” 

The angel seemed to be looking at some 
fair vision a long way off, as he said, low 
and sweetly, “Yes, I was there.” 

Then the angel went on to tell how lovely 
was the child Jesus, so that all who looked 
upon Him, loved Him and began to love one 
another also. And then he said, “Little 
Theodosia, do you know the meaning of 
Christmas?” 

Theodosia was silent, for she knew she had 
forgotten all this in her eagerness for her 
own pleasure. Presently she took courage 
and said, “I know that it means that Jesus 
is born into the world.” 

And the Christmas bells sounded, and 
sounded, and seemed to say, “Peace on 
earth and good-will toward men.” 

By and by the angel stopped at a low cot- 
tage, and opened the door. They went into 


THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL 


121 


the poor, cheerless room, but they were not 
seen. One cannot see the spirits of heaven 
when they choose to be invisible. As for 
Theodosia, the angel covered her with a cor- 
ner of his robe. 

There was a tallow candle burning on the 
table, and a pale woman sat by it. She was 
sewing on a piece of work which she had 
risen early in the day to accomplish. A little 
boy had crawled from his miserable bed in 
the corner, and was trying to light a fire of 
chips and cinders gathered in the streets. 
He was crying silently from cold and hunger. 
And the pale mother lifted her eyes to heaven, 
and murmured over and over again, as if it 
were the only prayer she could remember, 
“Give us this day our daily bread.” 

Theodosia had never heard of such misery. 
All her little troubles melted from her mind, 
and she thought, “Oh, why can I not do 
something to help these poor people!” She 
could not bear to wait until she could ask the 
King to help them. 

Just then she looked down, and behold! 
the bag had opened a little way of itself. 
Within, she saw the gleam of silver money. 
In an instant, and before it shut altogether 
again, she scattered a handful of money in 
the room. 


122 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

Wonderful to tell, the silver shower never 
struck the floor, but seemed to vanish in 
mid-air. And lo! a bright fire went leaping 
up the chimney, and on the table was food 
in plenty, and the little boy and his happy 
mother were thanking God and blessing the 
unknown benefactor. As the angel led the 
happy Theodosia away, she thought the 
Christmas bells were saying, “Naked, and 
ye clothed me; hungry, and ye gave me meat; 
verily I say unto you, ye did it unto me!” 

It was broad daylight now. Theodosia 
and the angel soon found themselves in an 
upper chamber, in another part of the city. 
There were a dozen little children in the 
room. They had scraps of newspapers and 
one or two tattered books from which they 
were learning to read and spell. 

In the midst stood the teacher, a poor 
young factory girl. She taught the little 
ones of the neighborhood every morning at 
daybreak, before going to her work. She 
did this because she would not let them go 
ignorant for want of her help. 

Theodosia heard her say: “Now let us 
go through our lesson quickly. Then we will 
all go and have a Christmas holiday, look- 
ing at the fine things in the stores and the 


THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL 


123 


pretty ladies in the street. Who knows? 
Perhaps the King and the Queen and the 
Princess may ride by.” 

When Theodosia heard that, she thought, 
“How I should like to help these little ones! 
They have no pleasure but in looking at the 
pleasure of other people.” The bag opened 
halfway of itself, and she saw there was gold 
in it. 

For a moment she hesitated. “With this 
gold,” she thought, “I could buy myself a 
necklace of pearls that I so much wish to 
have!” 

Just then the bag began slowly to shut up 
again. Theodosia gave one look at the chil- 
dren, and quickly drew from it all the gold, 
which she scattered in the room. 

The room changed by magic into a beau- 
tiful schoolroom. The happy children were 
wreathing it in green. The teacher, no longer 
a poor factory girl, but a fair and gentle 
woman, was about to distribute to them 
their Christmas gifts. 

Theodosia wished much to stay, but the 
angel drew her away. When they were once 
more in the street, the angel said, “Do you 
know the secret now?” 

Theodosia said nothing, but the Christmas 
bells rang out: — 


124 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

“Not what we get, but what we give, 

Makes up our treasure while we live! ,, 

This time the angel lifted her from the 
earth, and carried her swiftly over the whole 
land, and over many other lands. She saw 
how many people there were who did not 
yet know what Christmas meant. Yes, many 
thousands of them had never heard of Christ 
who was born in Bethlehem. Her heart was 
now so warm with the Christmas love that she 
could not bear to think of so much sin and 
sorrow. This time she put her hand on the 
lock of the bag, saying to herself, “If there 
is any more of the magical money in it, I 
will throw it down upon this poor, unhappy, 
wicked world.” 

The bag opened very easily, but there was 
nothing in it save a magnificent necklace of 
pearls! In vain she looked for silver and 
gold. She must either give up the necklace 
of pearls or nothing. 

So she took one more look at the beau- 
tiful gems, and then flung them down upon 
the earth. The necklace broke as it fell, scat- 
tering the pearls far and wide. Where every 
pearl fell, behold there arose by magic a 
church or a mission school, and in all lan- 
guages were heard the songs of thanks- 
giving. 


THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL 


125 


The angel said to her, “Now, see, your 
bag is empty; are you not sorry?” 

But Theodosia looked straight into his 
kind eyes, and said, “I have found the secret 
now!” And the Christmas bells rang out, 
“It is more blessed to give than to receive!” 

Then the angel caught her to his bosom 
with great joy. Flying swiftly through the 
air, he brought her back to the palace of the 
King. Lo ! in the great hall were all the gifts 
still piled, and the King and Queen had not 
come. 

He carried Theodosia to the place where 
her name was. Behold! there lay the black 
bag wide open and full of gifts innumerable. 
On each gift was some curious inscription. 
A beautiful bouquet of flowers bore the 
words, “These are the prayers of the poor.” 
Upon a crystal goblet was inscribed, “The 
disciple’s reward.” 

But most lovely of all was the necklace 
of pearls that hung from the tablet. Every 
pearl bore a name, like Patience, Gentle- 
ness, Truth, Innocence. Three pearls were 
larger than the rest. On the largest pearl, 
which was the very copy of the starry one 
upon the angel’s brow, Theodosia read, 
“The greatest of these is Charity.” 

Thus she learned the true name of the 


126 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

Christmas Angel; and he vanished away, and 
she saw him no more. 

She also saw that the black bag was like 
her own heart. When closed to charity, it 
was poor and empty. When open for the 
sake of others, it grew richer in treasure all 
the time. And the Christmas bells rang once 
more, “God so loved the world!” and again, 
“Beloved, if God so loved us, then ought 
we to love one another.” 

May the Christmas Angel dwell with every 
one of us, round and round the whole year! 

Rossiter W. Raymond. 


STORIES FROM REAL LIFE 

SIGNS OF BABY 

The last half of a long drive always seems 
much longer than the first. That was what 
the children were thinking as they sat, tired 
and silent, in grandfather’s big wagon, and 
wondered why the railroad station was so 
far from the farm. But away in the western 
plains of America, railways are not so plen- 
tiful as they are with us; houses, too, are 
sometimes few and far between. 

Katie gave a big sigh that was heard even 
above the rumble of the wagon, as they 
passed a bare little wooden house, rough and 
unpainted. 

Then mamma said in a cheery voice, just 
as if she were not a bit tired, “There’s a 
baby in that house.” 

“Where? I don’t see one,” said Eric. 

“Look at the clothesline,” said mamma, 
laughing. “On Monday afternoons I can 
always tell a house where there is a baby, 
for all the little clothes are hanging out from 
the wash. I feel sorry for a house where I 
don’t see signs of baby.” 


128 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


“Why I never thought of looking,” said 
Katie. 

“Nor I,” said Eric. 

Grandfather laughed quietly. “I’m sev- 
enty years old, and 1 never looked. I’m go- 
ing to begin now.” 

At the next house they passed there were 
no clothes on the line; but grandfather 
nodded his gray head and remarked, “There’s 
a baby in that house.” 

“Why, I don’t see a sign of one,” said Eric. 

“I see a sign,” grandfather said. And he 
let the horses walk slowly past the house. 

Then Katie saw it. “There’s a board 
nailed across the kitchen door to keep him 
from tumbling out,” she cried. And just then 
a round, curly head with two big brown 
eyes appeared above the board. 

“Oh,” said Eric, “there he is, sure enough; 
I was looking for his clothes.” 

It was great fun after that watching all 
the houses for signs of baby. 

“Listen! There’s a baby in there,” said 
mamma, as they passed a bright new house, 
and from the open door they heard a low, 
sweet lullaby sung by a woman’s voice. 

“Yes, there’s a baby,” said the children. 
“Drive gently, grandfather; he’s just going 
to sleep. We must not wake him up again.” 


SIGNS OF BABY 


129 


At another house grandfather discovered 
a sign, and such a curious one that even 
mother could not find it. 

“Are you sure, grandfather?” Eric asked. 

“Yes, I see it,” was all he said. And he 
let the horses stop for a drink, while the 
others looked and searched with keen eyes. 

“We give it up; you must tell us,” they 
said at last. 

And then he pointed with his whip to a 
bed of gay poppies where little heaps of the 
bright blossoms were lying at the side with- 
ering in the sun. 

“Are you sure about that sign?” Eric 
asked. 

“Yes, quite sure. What a little rogue he is, 
too, to pluck all those flowers!” said grand- 
father. “But if you won’t believe my sign, 
there’s another,” he went on. 

And this time he pointed to a little straw 
hat lying by the roadside with a handful of 
withered flowers beside it. 

It was Eric who discovered the last sign 
of all as they drew near the end of the drive. 
They were passing a pretty little home with 
a pleasant garden in front. No one was in 
sight. Under a tree lay a rocking-chair, which 
had been tumbled over; and nearer the door 
lay a piece of needlework, which some one 


130 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


had dropped. These were Eric’s signs, but 
the others would not believe in them. 

Just as they passed, however, they heard 
the plaintive sound of a baby’s sleepy cry. 

“There, now! Didn’t I tell you?” said 
Eric, in triumph. 

“But how did you know?” asked Katie. 

“Why, don’t you see? When he began to 
cry, his mother jumped up, and upset her 
chair, and dropped her work as she ran.” 

But now the long drive was over, and the 
children had found the last half of it shorter 
than the first after all. Anonymous. 

AGNESE AND HER FRUIT-STAND 

The children all knew Italian Agnese and 
called her by name. The reason they knew 
her was that she kept a fruit-stand, and was 
blind. Besides, she had the cunningest, fat, 
black-eyed, crowing baby on the block; and 
she had a machine for roasting peanuts. The 
baby’s father was dead, poor little one; but 
for that the children petted him the more. 
And the reason they called her by name 
was that everybody did. Besides, she would 
sometimes let the girls carry off the baby; 
and once in a great while she would let the 
boys turn the peanut machine. 


AGNESE AND HER FRUIT-STAND 131 


Her fruit-stand was on the corner of a 
dirty city street. But it made up for the dirt. 
It was lovely to the eye, sweet to the nose, 
and it set the mouth watering. 

Even the grown-ups noticed it. The Irish 
milkman, who passed it on his way home 
every morning, would call out to Agnese: 
“The top o’ the marnin’ to ye. It’s yersel’ 
that kin make it as purty as a picter. How 
is that black-eyed rogue?” 

Agnese in great delight would point out 
the milkman to the baby. And the baby 
would gurgle and crow as the Irishman shook 
his fist in fun. 

The German baker’s wife next door would 
catch sight of the stand as she piled hot, 
fresh-smelling loaves in the window. And 
she would come to the door to say, “Ach! it 
does mine heart goot to see it so neat ! ” The 
poet in the house across the street would 
call out from his window perch in a hall bed- 
room five flights up, “It is a thing of beauty 
and a joy forever.” The shabby artist in 
the velvet coat would stop before it and 
thrust his hands into his pockets, for he was 
hungry. “How she matches and mixes the 
colors!” he would exclaim. “Thy mother, 
bambino, can make the beautiful ! ” 

No one but the children, though, said 


132 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


anything about Agnese’s blind eyes. And 
they said the most charming things. They 
admired the fruit too. You shall hear. 

One morning Auguste, Katherine, and 
Lucy were at last up in time to see Agnese get 
her stand ready for the day. It was so early 
that the baker’s shop had not yet opened, 
except in the cellar, where the ovens are. 
The Irish milkman was still on his rounds, 
leaving a trail of bottles of milk behind him. 
The poet and the artist were abed, dream- 
ing, and shutting their eyes again if they 
woke, not to let the dream go. 

“Good-morning, Agnese,” sang out the 
children, as soon as her cart was near enough. 

“Good-morning, my early birds,” she 
called back at once. “You will catch not 
one worm in my fruit. I have brought back 
the soundest in the market,” she laughed, 
showing her pretty white teeth. 

The cart drew up at the corner. The chil- 
dren saw that it was bulging with fruit. 
Agnese threw the reins over the horse’s back 
and stepped lightly down. 

“How well you drive, Agnese,” said Au- 
guste. “You do not need eyes to see which 
way to go! You could be a coachman instead 
of a fruit lady.” 

“Ah, it is my old horse knows every step 


AGNESE AND HER FRUIT-STAND 133 


of the way, and obeys my lightest pull on 
the rein.” Agnese patted the horse’s nose 
and fed him a lump of sugar from a gay 
pocket hanging at her belt. 

“Now,” she cried, bustling about, “I 
must take out the best and sweetest cherry 
first.” And out she lifted her baby, cradle 
and all. With a finger on her lip, not to wake 
him, she gave them a peep. There he lay 
as snug as the richest baby in bed at home. 

“He’s fast asleep, the dear little ducky,” 
whispered Lucy. 

“Look at his fist,” said Auguste; “we’d 
better not wake him. He may give us a 
punch.” 

Agnese set the cradle safely away. Then 
she was ready for the fruit-stand. 

“May we help you unload the wagon?” 
asked Katherine. “We will be very careful.” 

“Yes, and we will do everything you tell 
us, dear Agnese,” said Lucy. 

“We will not eat even one grape,” said 
Auguste. 

“Ah, it is very glad, indeed, I am, to have 
your help,” cried Agnese, “for the stable boy 
will soon come for the horse and cart. And 
before we begin I shall give each of you the 
very juiciest pear I can find.” 

The children all said together that she 


134 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


must not do any such thing. They said they 
would not take it. But when they saw that 
she really wished them to have the pears, 
they ate them down to the very stems. I’m 
not sure that Auguste did not eat stem and 
all. 

“How clever you are, Agnese,” said Kath- 
erine, as she finished the last delicious bit; 
“you did not see the pears to pick them 
out.” 

“What a goose I’d be,” laughed Agnese, 
“to give you bananas in mistake. Haven’t 
I a nose that can tell a pear from a banana? 
Besides, — and this is how I tell most things, 
— haven’t I my hands to touch them? I 
can feel their smooth skins and the neck on 
them. I’m not clever.” 

“Well,” said Auguste, “some people with 
noses and hands and eyes, too, are very stu- 
pid. I know a boy — ” 

“Tut, tut,” said Agnese, “to work, to 
work!” 

You should have seen Agnese prepare the 
fruit-stand. When all the baskets were laid 
on the sidewalk, she uncovered the stand, 
and touched it lightly with her fingers. 

“Ah, the wicked dust has got in again. I 
drove him out before I left. I’ll banish him.” 
She brought out a stiff cloth and did. 


AGNESE AND HER FRUIT-STAND 135 


“Now,” she said, “for our fruit. The 
apples may have their cheeks polished, but 
the pears I must rub only gently, not to 
crack their skins. None but fruit good at 
the heart shall go on my stand. I shall try 
you over again, sirs, before I let you pass,” 
said she, with a nod of her shining black 
head. 

That was the best of Agnese, she could 
play a game with anything. 

She held each apple and pear in her hand 
to weigh it, and felt it over with her fingers 
for bad spots. 

And what wonderful things she made! 

When she had piled up the last pear and 
stuck a piece of brown stem in the top, she 
stepped back for the children to see. 

“Why, Agnese, you’ve built up a big 
golden pear!” cried Lucy. “Isn’t it beau- 
tiful?” 

“Ha, you like it? ” said Agnese, well pleased. 
“See what I make of the apples,” said she. 

The children watched breathlessly as she 
polished and piled one round layer of red and 
yellow apples on top of another. She had n’t 
gone far up when they burst out together, 
“It’s a round tower.” 

“So it is,” she said; “I know some chil- 
dren who are the clever ones.” 


136 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


Up and up she went. On the very top she 
placed a green branch. It waved in the early 
morning breeze. 

“You do make the most beautiful things, 
Agnese,” said Lucy. 

“I am sure you are an artist,” said Kath- 
erine. 

“Ha,” said Agnese, in high good humor; 
“what fun to be a fruit lady and a coachman 
and now an artist.” 

“ Is n’t it a pity the tower must come down 
as you sell the apples?” said Auguste. 

“But what would the bambino do for 
food and clothing if his mother sold no fruit 
and made no pennies?” cried Agnese. “I 
know I shall have an empty fruit-stand this 
evening. Am I not taking pains with it to 
please some little friends of mine?” said she 
slyly. 

The children laughed with pleasure. 

“Of course,” said Auguste, “you might 
play war, and pretend that the buyers are 
the enemy. They are paying you to take 
down the walls of the tower and let out the 
prisoners.” 

“Bravo!” said Agnese, “that will be fun. 
Play war is much better than real war.” 

“Let me see now what else I have,” said 
she, feeling the fruit. “Ah, you are round 


AGNESE AND HER FRUIT-STAND 137 

and firm, with soft down on your cheek. I 
must not brush that off. I know you, my 
beauties; you are my downy peaches. And 
these soft ones in the next basket, not so 
large and round, but so cool to my touch, 
are my lovely dark purple plums. There is 
a downy bloom on them, too, that I must 
not brush off.” 

“Not one mistake, Agnese,” cried the chil- 
dren. 

“But my examination is not over,” said 
Agnese, pretending at once they were exam- 
ining her; “let me try to name every one; 
perhaps I may miss on fruits after all.” 

“Not you,” said Auguste; “you will get 
one hundred per cent.” 

“These heavy bunches are the grapes; 
they were plucked this very morning, the 
dew is still on them,” said Agnese; “I must 
not dry them. The long ones are the white 
ones and the round ones the purple. Is it 
not so?” 

“Yes, yes,” cried the children, “you have 
n’t missed.” 

“Ah,” said she, passing her hand quickly 
from one basket to another, “and now I 
come to grapefruit, oranges, and lemons.” 

“Oh, those will be hard to tell apart; do not 
miss, dear Agnese,” cried Lucy anxiously. 


138 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


“Huh!” said Auguste, “of course she 
won’t.” But he, too, bent over a little anx- 
iously. 

You should have seen the fun in Agnese’s 
face! She put out her hand, then drew it 
back, and wrinkled her forehead. 

Katherine saw through her. “You are 
only making-believe,” she cried. “Time is 
up. You must tell at once.” 

“Well,” said Agnese, “I hope I shall not 
miss. My nose shall not help me,” she said, 
holding it with one hand. “These round 
heavy fellows with the smooth skin are — 
grapefruit.” 

“Good for you!” cried Auguste, waving 
his cap. 

“And these smaller round fellows with 
rougher skins are — oranges.” 

“Right!” shrieked Lucy, clapping her 
hands. 

“And these with the round knobs at one 
end of them are — are — ” 

“Don’t miss, dear, dear Agnese,” begged 
Katherine; “I think you should let your 
nose help you.” 

“No, no,” cried Agnese, pinching it to- 
gether more tightly; “they are — lemons!” 

“One hundred per cent!” cried the chil- 
dren; “hurrah for Agnese!” 


AGNESE AND HER FRUIT-STAND 139 


“The bananas are very easy,” said she; 
“ they won’t count. And here are nuts,” 
running her fingers through them. “I know 
them too. Here are those two-sided rough 
butternuts with the round, curved backs 
between. Here are peanuts like little fat 
ladies without head or feet, and tied in the 
middle.” 

The children chuckled at that. 

“Must I prove that I know the rest?” 
asked Agnese. 

“No, no,” they said, “we’ll give you a 
hundred per cent on the nuts, and on the 
dates and figs too.” 

Well, after that Agnese worked like a 
beaver. And whenever she could, she made 
what the children asked for. 

She built the peaches up into a rosy pyra- 
mid with fresh green leaves between every 
two layers. At the other end of the stand 
she heaped a small mountain of grapefruit, 
oranges, and lemons, with a path made of 
nuts. In the center she placed the brown 
block of dates. 

“That’s a house in the valley,” said Lucy. 

“Oh, yes,” said Auguste; “and because a 
band of robbers lives in the mountains, the 
people get in and out by a hidden door under- 
ground.” 


140 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


“That’s the reason, too, that the house 
has no windows,” said Katherine. 

“Of course,” said Auguste. 

While they were talking Agnese did some- 
thing to the house that left the children 
speechless with delight. She topped it with 
a pointed roof of figs. 

As soon as Lucy could get her breath she 
cried, “I almost wish 1 were blind, Agnese!” 

“Oh, no,” said Agnese quickly, “keep 
those gray eyes of yours open to the light.” 

“Why, Agnese, how do you know they 
are gray?” 

“Is n’t your name Lucy?” asked Agnese. 

“Agnese, you are clever, no matter what 
you say,” said Auguste. 

Well, such a success as that fruit-stand 
was! Every child for blocks around came 
to buy. And as for the grown-ups, they 
praised Agnese and the baby so much, al- 
though all he did was to crow at it, that 
Agnese was happier than a queen with a 
golden crown on her head. 

“Sure it’s an architec’ yer mother is, ye 
black-eyed rogue,” said the Irish milkman. 

“Ach, mein friend,” said the German 
baker’s wife, throwing up her hands, “you 
have the talent!” 

“I shall make a beautiful story in verse 


PERSEVERANCE WINS 


141 


out of it,” cried out the poet, seizing a pen. 
•“It will make my fortune.” 

“Ah,” said the artist, “little bambino, thy 
mother has a very pretty fancy. See that 
later on thou carve a statue of her in fine 
marble.” 

The baby did not understand a word that 
he said. But the mother cried, “Oh, I have 
great hopes of him; his grandfather was a 
sculptor.” 

It was the children’s praise that Agnese 
liked best. “Is n’t Agnese wonderful?” they 
said to one another. “She does not need 
eyes. She can make anything with her 
thoughts and her fingers.” 

Angela M. Keyes. 

PERSEVERANCE WINS 

About thirty years ago, I stepped into a 
bookstore in Cincinnati, in search of some 
books that I wanted. While there, a ragged 
little boy, not over twelve years of age, came 
in to ask whether they had “geographies” 
to sell. 

“Plenty of them,” was the salesman’s 
reply. 

“How much do they cost?” 

“One dollar, my lad.” 


142 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


“I did not know that they were so dear.” 

He turned to go out, and even opened the 
door, but closed it again and came back. “I 
have only sixty-two cents,” said he; “will 
you let me have the book, and wait awhile 
for the rest of the money?” 

How eagerly the lad looked for an an- 
swer; and how he seemed to shrink within 
his ragged clothes when the man refused 
his request! The disappointed little fellow 
looked up at me with a poor attempt at a 
smile, and left the store. I followed and 
overtook him. 

“And what now?” I asked. 

“I shall try another place, sir.” 

“Shall I go, too, and see how you succeed?” 

“Oh, yes, if you like,” said he, in surprise. 

Four different stores I entered with him, 
and four times I saw the childish face cloud 
at a harsh refusal. 

“Shall you try again?” I asked. 

“Yes, sir; I shall try them all, or I should 
not know whether I could get one.” 

We entered the fifth store, and the little 
fellow walked up manfully and told the gen- 
tleman just what he wanted and how much 
money he had. 

“Do you want the book very much?” 
asked the proprietor. 


PERSEVERANCE WINS 


143 


“Yes, sir, very much.” 

“Why do you want it so much?” 

“To study, sir. I cannot go to school; but, 
when I have time, I study at home. All 
the boys have geographies, and they will be 
ahead of me if I do not get one. Besides, 
my father was a sailor, and I want to know 
something about the places that he used to 
go to.” 

“Does he go to those places now?” 

“He is dead,” replied the boy softly. Then 
he added, after a while, “I am going to be a 
sailor, too.” 

“Are you, though?” asked the gentleman, 
raising his eyebrows curiously. 

“Yes, sir; if I live.” 

“Well, my lad, I’ll tell you what I will 
do; I will let you have a new geography, and 
you may pay the remainder of the money 
when you can; or, I will let you have one 
that is not new for fifty cents.” 

“Are the leaves all in it, and is it just like 
the others, only not new?” 

“Yes, it is as good as the new ones.” 

“It will do just as well, then; and I shall 
have twelve cents left toward buying some 
other book. I am glad they did not let me 
have one at any of the other places.” 

The bookseller looked up inquiringly, and 


144 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


I told him what I had seen of the little fellow. 
He was much pleased, and, when he brought 
the book along, I saw a nice new pencil and 
some clean white paper in it. 

“A present, my lad, for your perseverance. 
Always have courage like that, and you will 
make your mark,” said the bookseller. 

“Thank you, sir; you are very good.” 

“What is your name?” 

“William Hartley, sir.” 

“Do you want any more books?” I now 
asked, earnestly regarding the serious little 
face. 

“More than I can ever get,” he replied, 
glancing at the volumes that filled the 
shelves. 

I gave him a bank-note. “It will buy some 
for you,” I said. 

Tears of joy came into his eyes. 

“May I buy what I want with it?” 

“Yes, my lad; whatever you want.” 

“Then I will buy a book for mother,” said 
he. “I thank you very much, and some day 
I hope I can pay you.” 

He asked my name, and I gave it to him. 
Then I left him standing by the counter, so 
happy that I almost envied him. Many years 
passed before I saw him again. 


PERSEVERANCE WINS 


145 


Last year I went to Europe on one of the 
finest vessels that ever ploughed the waters 
of the Atlantic. We had pleasant weather 
the greater part of the voyage; but, toward 
the end, there came a terrible storm, and the 
ship would have sunk, with all on board, had 
it not been for the captain. 

Every mast was laid low, the rudder was 
almost useless, and a great leak was filling 
the vessel with water. The crew were strong 
and willing men, and the mates were prac- 
tical seamen of the first class. 

But, after pumping for one whole night, 
with the water still gaining upon them, the 
sailors gave up in despair, and prepared to 
take to the boats, though they might have 
known that no small boat could live in such 
a wind and sea. 

The captain, who had been below exam- 
ining his charts, now came up. He saw how 
matters stood, and, with a voice that I heard 
distinctly above the roar of the tempest, he 
ordered every man to his post. 

It was surprising to see those men bow be- 
fore his strong will and hurry back to the 
pumps. The captain then started below to 
look for the leak. As he passed me, I asked 
him whether there was any hope of saving 
the vessel. 


146 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


He looked at me, and then at the other 
passengers, and said: “Yes sir; so long as 
one inch of this deck remains above water, 
there is hope. When that fails, I shall aban- 
don the vessel, not before, nor shall one of 
my crew. Everything shall be done to save 
the ship, and, if we fail, it will not be our 
fault. Bear a hand, every one of you, at the 
pumps.” 

Thrice during the day did we despair; but 
the captain’s dauntless courage, persever- 
ance, and powerful will mastered every man 
on board, and we went to work again. “I 
will land you safe at the dock in Liverpool,” 
said he, “if you will be men.” 

And he did land us safe, but the vessel 
sunk soon after she was moored to the dock. 
The captain stood on the deck of the sinking 
ship receiving the thanks and the blessings 
of the passengers as they hurried down the 
gangplank. I was the last to leave. 

As I passed, he grasped my hand, and said: 
“Judge Preston, do you not recognize me?” 

I told him that I did not; I was not aware 
that I had ever seen him before I stepped on 
board his ship. 

“Do you remember the boy who had so 
much difficulty in getting a geography, some 
thirty years ago, in Cincinnati? He owes a 


HUGH. JOHN AND THE SCOTS GREYS 147 

debt of gratitude for your encouragement 
and kindness to him.” 

“I remember him very well, sir. His name 
was William Hartley.” 

“I am he,” said the captain. “God bless 
you!” 

“And may God bless you, too, Captain 
Hartley,” I said. “The perseverance that, 
thirty years ago, secured you that geography, 
has to-day saved our lives.” 

Anonymous . 

HUGH JOHN AND THE SCOTS 
GREYS 

On this great day of which I am telling, 
Hugh John had been digging all the morn- 
ing in the sand-hole. He had on his red coat, 
which was his pride. Suddenly there came 
a sound which made the heart of Hugh John 
beat in his side. It was the sound of the 
drum. He had only time to dash for his cap, 
gird on his London sword with the gold hilt, 
and fly. 

As he ran down the avenue, the boy had 
a great struggle with himself. The children 
were playing “house” under the elm on the 
front lawn. He could not bear that they 
should miss seeing the soldiers; but then, if 


148 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

he went back, the troops might be past be- 
fore he could reach the gate. 

“I must see the soldiers! I must!” he 
cried. Then he turned toward the house and 
the elm. “I can’t be so mean, though, as to 
go off without telling them,” said he. 

And so he ran with all his might back to 
the elm with a warning cry to the children. 
Then, with legs almost as invisible as the 
spokes of a bicycle, so quickly did they pass 
each other, Hugh John fairly flung himself 
toward the White Gate. 

The first who came were soldiers in dark 
uniform. No one cast a glance at Hugh 
John, standing with his drawn sword, giving 
the salute as each company passed. Not that 
Hugh John cared or even knew that they 
did not see him. Then came redcoats and 
one or two brass bands. Hugh John saluted 
them all. 

No one paid the least attention to him. 
He did not expect any one to notice him — 
a small, dusty boy, with a sword too big for 
him. Why should these glorious creatures 
notice him? Then came more soldiers, and 
yet more and more. Would they never end? 
And ever the sword of Hugh John flashed 
to the salute, and his small arm grew weary 
as it rose and fell. 


HUGH JOHN AND THE SCOTS GREYS 149 


Then happened the most astonishing thing 
in the world. For there came a new sound 
— the sound of cavalry hoofs. A bugle rang 
out. Hugh John watched the white dust 
rise. Perhaps — who knows? — this was his 
reward for not being mean. For the noble 
gray horses came trampling along, and Hugh 
John grew pale at the sight of them. He 
had seen soldiers before, but never any like 
these. 

On they came, a fine young fellow leading 
them, sitting carelessly on the noblest horse 
of all. He sat erect, leading “the finest troop 
in the finest regiment in the world.” He saw 
the dusty, small boy in the red coat, under 
the elm tree. He saw his pale face, his flash- 
ing eye, his soldierly bearing. Hugh John 
had never seen anything so glorious as these 
soldiers. He could scarce command himself 
to salute. But though his under lip trem- 
bled, the hand which held the sword was 
steady as he went through the beautiful 
movements of the military salute. 

The young officer smiled. His own hand 
moved to the response. The boy’s heart stood 
still. Could this thing be? A real soldier had 
saluted him! 

But there was something more wonderful 
yet to come. The young officer will never 


150 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

do a prettier action than he did that day, 
when the small, dusty boy stood under the 
elm tree at the end of the avenue. This is 
what he did. First he turned about in his 
saddle: “Attention, men! Draw swords !” 
he cried; and his voice rang like a trumpet, 
so grand it was, at least so Hugh John 
thought. 

There came a glitter of steel as the swords 
flashed in the air. The horses tossed their 
heads at the sound; the men gathered up 
their bridle reins in their left hands. “Eyes 
right, carry swords!” came the sharp com- 
mand. And every blade glittered as it came 
to salute. 

No fuller cup of joy was ever drunk by 
mortal. The tears were in Hugh John’s eyes 
in the pride of this honor done to him. He 
was no longer a little, dusty boy. He stood 
there, glorified. “Eyes front, slope swords!” 
rang the voice once more. The troops passed 
by. Only the far drumbeat came back as 
he stood speechless. 

When his father rode up, on his way home, 
he asked the boy what he was doing there. 
Then a little clicking hitch came suddenly 
in Hugh’s throat. He wanted to laugh, but 
somehow, instead, the tears ran down his 
cheeks. 


BROTHERHOOD OF LONG AGO 151 


“I’m not hurt, father. I’m not crying. 
It was only that the Scots Greys saluted 
me. And I can't help it, father. But, I’m 
not crying. I’m not, indeed!” 

Then the stern man gathered up the great 
soldier and set him across his saddle; for 
Hugh John was alone, the children having 
long ago gone back with the nurse. And his 
father did not say anything, but let him sit 
in front with the famous sword in his hands 
which had brought about such wonderful 
things. And even thus rode our hero home. 

S. R. Crockett. 


BROTHERHOOD OF LONG AGO 

A Half -Forgotten Incident 

Over one hundred years ago, when our 
country was fighting against England, there 
came to help us a young French nobleman 
named Lafayette. Although only a boy of 
nineteen years, he had run away from his 
country because he longed to fight for lib- 
erty. He said that he came to learn, not to 
teach, and, from the first, he took George 
Washington for an ideal. 

Lafayette and Washington became life- 
long friends. Lafayette named his son for 


152 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


Washington and, on his return to America 
in 1787, he paid a delightful visit to Wash- 
ington at Mount Vernon. He promised soon 
to return, but almost forty years passed by 
before he kept his word. 

He came at last, in 1824, a bent old man, 
with a heart loyal as ever to his adopted 
country. He visited every State and Territory 
in the Union and was welcomed everywhere 
with the warmest enthusiasm. Receptions, 
dinner parties, and balls followed each other 
in brilliant succession, always with Lafay- 
ette the chief figure. The welcome of the 
people was voiced in a song of the time: — 

“We bow not the neck. 

We bend not the knee. 

But our hearts, Lafayette, 

We surrender to thee.” 

The incident that I am to relate occurred 
during the visit of 1824. 

A brilliant reception was under way. A 
slowly moving line of stately guests passed 
by the noble old marquis, who greeted each 
with courtly grace. Presently there ap- 
proached an old soldier clad in a worn Con- 
tinental uniform. In his hand was an an- 
cient musket, and across his shoulder was 
thrown a small blanket, or rather a piece of 


BROTHERHOOD OF LONG AGO 153 


blanket. On reaching the marquis, the vet- 
eran drew himself up in the stiff fashion of 
the old-time drill and gave the military 
salute. As Lafayette returned the salute, 
tears sprang to his eyes. The tattered uni- 
form, the ancient flintlock, the silver-haired 
veteran, even older than himself, recalled 
the dear past. 

“Do you know me?” asked the soldier. 
Lafayette’s manner had led him to think 
himself personally remembered. 

“Indeed, I cannot say that I do,” was the 
frank reply. 

“Do you remember the frosts and snows 
of Valley Forge?” 

“I shall never forget them,” answered 
Lafayette. 

“One bitter night. General Lafayette, you 
were going the rounds at Valley Forge. You 
came upon a sentry in thin clothing and with- 
out stockings. He was slowly freezing to 
death. You took his musket, saying, ‘Go 
to my hut. There you will find stockings, a 
blanket, and a fire. After warming yourself, 
bring the blanket to me. Meanwhile I will 
keep guard.’ 

“The soldier obeyed directions. When he 
returned to his post, you, General Lafayette, 
cut the blanket in two. One half you kept. 


154 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


the other you presented to the sentry. Here, 
General, is one half of that blanket, for I am 
the sentry whose life you saved. ,, 

Fanny E. Coe. 

THE DUTCH BOOR AND HIS 
HORSE 

When I was a small child and went to 
school, too young to read, I heard a thing 
read, of a horse, that made my cheeks wet 
with hot tears. The man who owned the horse 
lived at the Cape of Good Hope, and was 
called a Dutch boor, which means that he 
was a poor man of Dutch blood who was 
born on the soil of that hot land, and tilled 
it with the plough and hoe. 

He was a kind man at heart, though rough 
in look and speech. He loved his mare, and 
she loved him, and was with him by day, and 
near him by night. She was proud to have 
him on her back, and would dash through 
swamps, ponds, and fire, too, if he wished it. 

But a day came that proved the faith and 
love of her stout heart and the soul of the 
man. A great storm came down on the sea. 
The waves roared, and rose as high as the 
hills. Their white tops foamed with rage at the 
winds that smote them with all their might. 


THE DUTCH BOOR AND HIS HORSE 155 


Night drew near, and it was a scene to 
make one quake with fear. Right in the 
midst of all this rage and roar of wind and 
sea, a great ship, with sails rent, and helm 
gone, came in sight. It rode on the high, 
white waves, straight on to a reef of rocks, 
too far from the shore to be reached with a 
rope. 

The ship was full of young and old, whose 
cries for help could be heard, loud as was 
the voice of the storm. Their boats were 
gone like the shells of eggs. There was no 
wood with which to build a raft. The waves 
leaped on the ship like great white wolves 
bent on their prey. How could one soul of 
them all be saved? 

The men on shore could but look on the 
sad sight. They could give no help. They 
had no boat or raft, and their hearts were 
sick within them. 

Then the Dutch boor was seen to draw 
near at full speed on his horse. Down he 
came to the beach, nor did he stop there one 
breath of time. 

He spoke a word to her which she knew, 
and with no touch of whip or spur she dashed 
in, and, with a rope tied to her tail, swam 
the sea to the ship’s side. She wheeled, and 
stamped her way on the white surge with a 


156 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


row of men to the shore. There she stayed 
but for a breath. 

At the soft word and touch she knew so 
well, she turned, and once more ploughed 
through the surge to the ship, and brought 
back a load of young and old. Once more 
she stood on the beach, amidst tears of joy 
that fell from all eyes. She stood there 
weak, as wet with sweat as with the sea. 
The night fell down fast on the ship. There 
were still a few more left on it, and their 
cries for help came on the wind to the shore. 

The thoughts that tugged at the brave 
man’s heart will not be known in this world. 
The cries from the ship pierced it through 
and through. He could not bear to hear 
them. He spoke a low, soft word to his horse; 
he put his hand to her neck, and seemed to 
ask her if she could do it. She turned her 
head to him with a look that meant, “If you 
wish it, I will try.” He did wish it, and she 
tried to the last pulse of her heart. 

She walked straight into the wild sea. All 
on shore held their breath at the sight. She 
was weak, but brave. Now and then the 
white surge buried her head; then she rose 
and shook the brine out of her eyes. 

Foot by foot she neared the ship. Now 
the last man had caught the rope. Once 


HOW BLACK AGNES KEPT HER CASTLE 157 

more she turned her head to the beach. 
Shouts and prayers came from it to keep up 
her strength. 

The tug was for a life she loved more than 
her own. She broke her veins for it halfway 
between ship and shore. She could lift her 
feet no more; her mane lay like black sea- 
weed on the waves while she tried to catch 
one more breath; then, with a groan, she 
went down with all the load she bore, and a 
wail went out from the land for the loss of a 
life that had saved from death nearly all of 
a ship’s crew of men. 

Thus dared and died in the sea the brave 
Dutch boor and his horse. 

They were as friends, one in life, one in 
death; and both might well have place and 
rank with the best lives and deaths we read 
of in books for young or old. 

Elihu Burritt. 

HOW BLACK AGNES KEPT HER 
CASTLE 

“Cam’ I early, cam’ I late, 

I found Black Agnes at the gate.” 

“We will keep it,” laughed Black Agnes 
with a proud little tilt of her chin — “we 
will keep our castle whilst one stone of it 


158 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


stands upon another; aye, though the English 
Edward himself were clamoring at our gates! ” 

She was the daughter of the gallant Ran- 
dolph, Earl of Murray, and the wife of the 
powerful Earl of March. She was, also, a 
countess and a very great lady; but Black 
Agnes was the name the Scottish folk gave 
her, because the soft thick hair that crowned 
her small head was as black as night; and 
the bright eyes that laughed at you from 
underneath curving dark eyebrows were like- 
wise black, like two sloes; and because the 
lady’s face, though softly tinted and clear, 
was, nevertheless, as brown as a berry. Yet, in 
spite of her gypsy looks, she was as fair to 
see as any maiden in the land, who boasted 
yellow hair and a skin like roses and snow. 

She lived in the castle of Dunbar, the 
Earl of March’s sturdy fortress-home, which 
stands perched upon the rocks of the North 
Berwickshire coast, with the waves of the 
wild North Sea ever tumbling and sounding 
below it. But, just now, her lord was away 
at the wars, fighting with Sir Andrew Mur- 
ray, the Scottish Regent, for the little King 
David, against the English, who were once 
more overrunning the kingdom after the 
death of the good Robert Bruce. 

There seemed to be bands of Englishmen 


HOW BLACK AGNES KEPT HER CASTLE 159 


making war in every corner of the country. 
On every side skirmishes were being fought 
daily, castles taken, retaken, and surren- 
dered; and here, on the landward side of 
Dunbar, a hostile force had encamped and 
was laying siege to the castle. A large, strong, 
well-armed force it was, commanded by no 
less a person than Montague, Earl of Salis- 
bury, with his companion and brother-in- 
arms, the Earl of Arundel. 

My Lord Montague had set himself and 
his forces down before the Earl of March’s 
stronghold with a firm determination to 
take it and keep it, but he had forgotten 
that there was Black Agnes to reckon with. 
My Lady of Dunbar had as stubborn a will 
as my Lord of Salisbury, and the idea of 
giving up her husband’s castle to her coun- 
try’s enemies was something that never so 
much as entered her steadfast mind. Be- 
sides, five years before, her well-beloved 
brother had been slain by English hands in 
the battle of Dupplin Moor, and, since that 
time, the Countess’s hatred for Englishmen 
had been bitterer than ever. 

So the siege commenced, and the Earl of 
Salisbury soon found out that Black Agnes 
had made no idle boast when she declared 
she would keep the castle against all comers. 


160 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


To begin with, my lady seemed to have 
no fear at all of any one or any thing. Her 
castle was strong and sufficiently provided 
with stores to hold out for some time, and 
her husband had left a goodly supply of men 
to guard her and his home. Again, the 
saucy dame made so light of this besieging. 
She would not listen to Montague’s threats, 
she would not be daunted by the sight of 
his arms and men. She stood upon her castle 
towers and sent down jests and merry laugh- 
ter, mingling with the whizz of her retainers’ 
arrows and stones, upon the heads of the 
English below. 

“I am a woman,” she said once, with a 
twist of her red lips, — “a woman, with a 
woman’s frail body; but thank Heaven! my 
spirit, I think, is the spirit of a man and a 
soldier. So — have at ye! my Lord of Salis- 
bury!” And, as if in answer to her words, 
stout-hearted William Spens, a bluff old re- 
tainer and her head archer, would bid his 
men shower down a rain of arrows “for the 
English dogs to taste.” 

But Montague kept to his work doggedly. 
Again and again the sturdy walls were at- 
tacked; again and again the forces outside 
were compelled to withdraw to a safe dis- 
tance, glad to escape from the biting tongue 


HOW BLACK AGNES KEPT HER CASTLE 161 

of my lady, and the still keener arrows of 
my lady’s men." Day after day the castle 
shook from turret to vault from the force 
of the mighty stones that Montague’s clumsy 
war-engines flung against it. The Countess 
gathered the maidens of her household to- 
gether upon the battlements, and gave each 
one a white linen cloth. 

“Keep the castle clean, I pray ye, maid- 
ens,” she laughed. “Wipe away the dust 
that these ruffling gallants are making.” 
And the ladies, laughing, too, hastened to 
do her bidding, for it was hard to be any- 
thing but light-hearted where my lady was. 
Then her clear voice came ringing down to 
the Earl below: “Do not fear to send us all 
the stones ye have, my lord, since ye find such 
sport in it, — ’t will not harm us one jot, I 
swear! My maidens, as ye see, can wipe away 
the little dust that ye raise with your game. 
’T is all that ’s needed.” And again she laughed. 

So Black Agnes defied them gayly, stand- 
ing on the walls in the face of all the storm- 
ing, her white veil blowing about her in the 
fresh sea- wind. The fire and glory of battle 
seemed to leap and tingle in all her veins. 
Fear was a word she could not understand. 

Montague was stung by her taunts, but, 
at the same time, he laughed grimly. 


162 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


“Yon saucy black patch must be taught 
better manners,” he said. 

That same day my lady from her turret 
window saw another of the Earl’s war-en- 
gines being rolled toward the castle. It was 
a clumsy wooden structure, built like a small 
shed, and made to hold many men. With 
its arching roof and rough walls it looked 
like nothing so much as a great mimic hog 
mounted upon wheels. 

“Oho!” said my lady to herself softly, 
“my lord is bringing his sow, I see. We must 
hasten to receive her!” 

She knew that within the engine were men 
armed with instruments to break the castle 
walls at close quarters, securely sheltered the 
while from the rain of defenders’ arrows. 

Light as a bird she fled up to her battle- 
ments and leaned over the walls. The mighty 
“ sow ” lumbered nearer and nearer. Down 
below the Earl watched it gloatingly, and 
watched also Black Agnes’s lovely gypsy 
face laughing over the parapet. Now the 
great thing was quite beneath the walls. 

“Beware, Montague!” came the lady’s 
mocking voice, “have a care of thy sow! ” 

A deafening crash followed close upon 
her words. It seemed to shake the very 
earth, and drowned utterly for a moment the 


HOW BLACK AGNES KEPT HER CASTLE 163 

dull thunder of the waves upon the shore 
below. 

A stone had been dropped from the bat- 
tlements upon the back of Montague’s sow. 
A stone! — nay, it was a mighty piece of 
rock! The engine was completely shattered, 
and those who had been within it climbed 
out of the ruins as best they could and fled 
toward safety, with the arrows of Will Spens 
and his men whirring at their ears. 

“ See how they run — that litter of Engr 
lish pigs!” cried Black Agnes, and burst 
into merry laughter. 

The Earl himself was standing close to 
the castle at that moment, with a young 
knight upon either side of him. All were 
armed in chain-mail, with the visors of their 
helmets down. Presently the Earl was star- 
tled by a faint cry, and, turning, he saw that 
the knight at his left hand had fallen and 
was lying dead, with one of Spens’s arrows 
sunk deep in his breast. Montague went 
swiftly upon one knee and pulled out the 
shaft gently, gazing down at the white face 
drawn in such pain. The young man had 
been killed instantly. 

“See,” said the Earl, looking up at his 
companion grimly, “here is one of my lady’s 
bodkins. Young Gervaise was armed, even 


164 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

as you, with double mail over a leathern 
jerkin. But the love-shafts of Black Agnes 
find their way straight to the heart, by my 
faith!” 

It seemed useless to attack the castle, for 
it appeared to be proof against everything, 
and my lady only laughed at her foes. They 
must try strategy, Salisbury said. 

So it came to pass one wild evening that 
the Countess, making her usual round of the 
fortress before going to rest, came upon one 
of the warders of the outer gates who, at that 
hour, was off duty. At sight of his mistress 
the fellow approached, drew her aside, and be- 
gan to whisper a long tale in her ear. My lady 
listened, frowned, drew her red lips together, 
and whistled like a boy, then smiled, and, 
when the man ended, patted him softly on the 
shoulder. 

“So ! So!” she said, nodding. “And they 
would have bribed ye, ye say?” 

“Aye, madam.” 

She thought a moment; then, swiftly: 
“Take their bribe,” she whispered; “let 
them fool ye — thus far — or — nay, I think 
’t is we who will fool them. But do as they 
ask ye, and open the gates at midnight, as 
they would have ye do. I’ll answer for the 
rest.” 


HOW BLACK AGNES KEPT HER CASTLE 165 

The warder went away chuckling. 

Twelve o’clock came. The moon, shining 
fitfully out of a cloudy sky, showed a little 
band of men creeping to the castle walls. At 
their head was Salisbury, and, immediately 
behind him, came his young squire, John Cope- 
land. 

The warder had obeyed his instructions. 
The great gates stood open invitingly, not 
a soul was in sight, and the heavy portcullis 
loomed over them, a raised black grating. 

Salisbury hastened forward, but just as 
he was about to cross the threshold, some- 
thing slipped past him and entered before 
him. It was John Copeland. A minute later 
the huge iron barriers had clashed down 
before his startled eyes, and the Earl, back- 
ing in alarm, was hastily thanking his fates 
that he was “upon the wrong side of it.” 
But his young squire was a prisoner. 

“Farewell, Montague!” came a woman’s 
well-known voice from an arrow-slit in the 
walls; “farewell, and good-night to ye, my 
lord. We are about to sit down to supper: 
an’ ye had been quicker, ye might have sat 
down with us, and afterwards helped to put 
these troublesome English knaves to flight.” 

It was of no use, the Earl was finding, to 
either argue or bargain with Black Agnes. 


166 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


“We will starve her out,” he said at last, and 
set himself to wait. 

The days passed by, and spread to weeks, 
the weeks dragged out to months, and now 
the castle was surrounded by foes on every 
side — by a little army upon land, and by 
ships, filled with English, upon the sea. 

Within the stronghold the food-stores were 
runing low, and the gallant defenders, still 
holding out, felt the bitter pinch of hunger. 
My lady’s brown cheeks grew hollow and 
thin, her straight young body slighter and 
more frail; but her eyes were as fearless, her 
step as light, as ever. And her spirit was 
like that of twenty men. She would not give 
in, she would not allow her household to 
grow despondent; day by day she would 
raise their spirits with encouraging hopes and 
words; day by day they laughed at the jests 
that never, for all her feebleness and hunger 
pangs, ceased to flow from Black Agnes’s 
lips. 

The scanty portions of food were doled out 
each day, and not one crumb would my 
lady take more than the humblest archer 
upon her walls. Indeed, she often took less 
than her share. “I have not a man’s great 
body to fill,” she said, and laughed. 

Men and maidens alike adored her; there 


HOW BLACK AGNES KEPT HER CASTLE 167 


was no one like their Black Agnes. And 
John Copeland, her prisoner, although he 
was an Englishman, and therefore should 
have been a foe, became quickly her most 
devoted and admiring servant. 

“I believe, madam,” he said one day as 
they stood upon the battlements gazing 
down at the ring of English about them, — 
“I believe, upon my faith, ye would keep 
twenty castles.” 

My lady tilted her chin. “Aye, I would,” 
she flashed back — “if I had them!” 

Nineteen long weeks had gone by since 
Salisbury and Arundel first encamped be- 
fore Dunbar, and at last, one fair morning 
that seemed full of the sweet spring promise, 
Montague received an eager messenger. 

“My lord,” began the man, “I have 
news — ” 

“What?” the Earl sprang to his feet. 
“The Countess gives way — ? ” 

“She does not, sir. By no means. For 
last night one Sir Alexander Ramsay, with 
a supply of food and men, sails out from the 
Bass Rock yonder, and slips through our 
ships below there — the sly dog! — and so 
rescues my lady from her plight; none too 
soon, either.” He laughed ruefully; then 
added, “If ye still wait at her gates, after 


168 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


this, my lord, she is like to keep ye waiting 
five months more.” 

The Earl stroked his chin. “A gallant 
dame,” he said, “a gallant dame; but what 
a spirit — and what a tongue! Oh, a plague 
upon my lady ! A waiting game is ever a hard 
one for a soldier to play, but when it comes 
to waiting upon the will of Black Agnes — ” 

He stopped, and, in spite of himself, be- 
gan to laugh. But not long afterwards the 
Countess, upon her lookout tower, saw my 
Lords of Salisbury and Arundel, with all 
their forces, leaving the camp where they 
had lain so long, and slowly, reluctantly, 
turning their backs upon Dunbar. Then, 
looking seaward, she saw the fleet of Eng- 
lish vessels leaving the harbor and making 
for the open sea. 

She clapped her hands softly, and, snatch- 
ing the white veil that flowed behind her, 
waved it gayly to the Earl below. He saw it, 
and laughed grimly, raising his sword and 
shaking it at the slim scarlet-gowned figure 
on the walls. 

“Dunbar is still the Earl of March’s, and 
— well, there’s none but Black Agnes to 
thank for that!” he said. 


Dorothy King. 


THE MOTHER MURRE 


169 


THE MOTHER MURRE 

One of the most striking cases of mother- 
love which has ever come under my obser- 
vation, I saw in the summer of 1912 on the 
bird rookeries of the Three-Arch Rocks Res- 
ervation off the coast of Oregon. 

We were making our slow way toward the 
top of the outer rock. Through rookery after 
rookery of birds, we climbed until we reached 
the edge of the summit. Scrambling over 
this edge, we found ourselves in the midst 
of a great colony of nesting murres — hun- 
dreds of them — covering this steep rocky 
part of the top. 

As our heads appeared above the rim, 
many of the colony took wing and whirred 
over us out to sea, but most of them sat close, 
each bird upon its egg or over its chick, 
loath to leave, and so expose to us the hid- 
den treasure. 

The top of the rock was somewhat cone- 
shaped, and in order to reach the peak and 
the colonies on the west side we had to make 
our way through this rookery of the murres. 
The first step among them, and the whole 
colony was gone, with a rush of wings and 
feet that sent several of the top-shaped eggs 


170 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


rolling, and several of the young birds top- 
pling over the cliff to the pounding waves 
and ledges far below. 

We stopped, but the colony, almost to a 
bird, had bolted, leaving scores of eggs, and 
scores of downy young squealing and run- 
ning together for shelter, like so many beetles 
under a lifted board. 

But the birds had not every one bolted, 
for here sat two of the colony among the 
broken rocks. These two had not been 
frightened off. That both of them were 
greatly alarmed, any one could see from their 
open beaks, their rolling eyes, their tense 
bodies on tiptoe for flight. Yet here they sat, 
their wings out like props, or more like grip- 
ping hands, as if they were trying to hold 
themselves down to the rocks against their 
wild desire to fly. 

And so they were, in truth, for under their 
extended wings I saw little black feet mov- 
ing. These two mother murres were not go- 
ing to forsake their babies! No, not even for 
these approaching monsters, such as they 
had never before seen, clambering over their 
rocks. 

What was different about these two? They 
had their young ones to protect. Yes, but 
so had every bird in the great colony its 


THE MOTHER MURRE 


171 


young one, or its egg, to protect, yet all the 
others had gone. Did these two have more 
mother-love than the others? And hence, 
more courage, more intelligence? 

We took another step toward them, and 
one of the two birds sprang into the air, 
knocking her baby over and over with the 
stroke of her wing, and coming within an 
inch of hurling it across the rim to be bat- 
tered on the ledges below. The other bird 
raised her wings to follow, then clapped them 
back over her baby. Fear is the most con- 
tagious thing in the world; and that flap of 
fear by the other bird thrilled her, too, but 
as she had withstood the stampede of the 
colony, so she caught herself again and held 
on. 

She was now alone on the bare top of the 
rock, with ten thousand circling birds scream- 
ing to her in the air above, and with two men 
creeping up to her with a big black camera 
that clicked ominously. She let the mul- 
titude scream, and with threatening beak 
watched the two men come on. A mother- 
less baby, spying her, ran down the rock 
squealing for his life. She spread a wing, 
put her bill behind him and shoved him 
quickly in out of sight with her own baby. 
The man with the camera saw the act, for I 


172 


THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 


heard his machine click, and I heard him 
say something under his breath that you 
would hardly expect a mere man and a game- 
warden to say. But most men have a good 
deal of the mother in them; and the old bird 
had acted with such decision, such courage, 
such swift, compelling instinct, that any man, 
short of the wildest savage, would have felt 
his heart quicken at the sight. 

“Just how compelling might that mother- 
instinct be?” I wondered. “Just how much 
would that mother-love stand?” I had 
dropped to my knees, and on all fours had 
crept up within about three feet of the bird. 
She still had chance for flight. Would she 
allow me to crawl any nearer? Slowly, very 
slowly, I stretched forward on my hands, like 
a measuring- worm, until my body lay flat on 
the rocks, and my fingers were within three 
inches of her. But her wings were twitching, 
a wild light danced in her eyes, and her head 
turned toward the sea. 

For a whole minute I did not stir. I was 
watching — and the wings again began to 
tighten about the babies, the wild light in 
the eyes died down, the long, sharp beak 
turned once more toward me. 

Then slowly, very slowly, I raised my 
hand, touched her feathers with the tip of 


THE MOTHER MURRE 


173 


one finger — with two fingers — with my 
whole hand, while the loud camera click- 
clacked, click-clacked, hardly four feet away ! 

It was a thrilling moment. I was not kill- 
ing anything. I had no long-range rifle in 
my hands, coming up against the wind to- 
ward an unsuspecting creature hundreds of 
yards away. This was no wounded leopard 
charging me; no mother-bear defending with 
her giant might a captured cub. It was only 
a mother-bird, the size of a wild duck, with 
swift wings at her command, hiding under 
those wings her own and another’s young, 
and her own boundless fear! 

For the second time in my life I had taken 
captive with my bare hands a free wild bird. 
No, I had not taken her captive. She had 
made herself a captive; she had taken her- 
self in the strong net of her mother-love. 

And now her terror seemed quite gone. 
At the first touch of my hand I think she 
felt the love restraining it, and without fear 
or fret she let me feel under her and pull 
out the babies. But she reached after them 
with her bill to tuck them back out of sight, 
and when I did not let them go, she sidled 
toward me, quacking softly, a language that 
I perfectly understood, and was quick to 
respond to. I gave them back, fuzzy and 


174 THIRD BOOK OF STORIES 

black and white. She got them under her, 
stood up over them, pushed her wings down 
hard around them, her stout tail down hard 
behind them, and together with them pushed 
in an abandoned egg that was close at hand. 
Her own baby, some one else’s baby, and 
some one else’s forsaken egg! She could 
cover no more; she had not feathers enough. 
But she had heart enough; and into her 
mother’s heart she had already tucked every 
motherless egg and nestling of the thousands 
of frightened birds, screaming and wheeling 
in the air high over her head. 

Dallas Lore Sharp. 


«.< pi & (6i 


KEY TO PRONUNCIATION 


as in fate 

i, as in Ice 

“ “ sen'ate 

i. “ “ 111 

“ “ c&re 

“ “ am 

6, as in old 

“ “ arm 

6, “ “ o-bey' 

“ “ ask 

6, “ “ 6rb 

“ “ fi'ntfl 

6, “ “ 6dd 

6, “ “ con-nect 1 

as in eve 

oo,“ “ food 

“ “ e-vent' 

“ “ gnd 

u, as in use 

“ “ ev'er 

tl, “ “ u-nite' 

“ “ re'cent 

“ “ hrn 
ti, “ “ tip 
u, “ “ cir'cus 

PROPER 

NAMES 

Agnes 

&g'nSs 

Agnese 

Sg'nez 

Airey 

ar'i 

Andrew 

&n'dr00 

Arndt 

arnt 

Arundel 

&r'wn-d£l 

Auguste 

6'giist 

Ballygan 

b&l-J-gan' 

Band-beggar 

band-beg'er 

Barnes 

barnz 

Bass 

bas 

Bernardus 

ber-nar'dtis 

Berwickshire 

ber'Ik-sher 

Bethlehem 

bSth'le-hSm 

Bramble 

br&m'b’l 

Bruce 

broos 

Burd Ellen 

burd Sl'en 

Childe Rowland 

child ro'l&nd 

Cincinnati 

sln'si-nat'i 

Copeland 

kop'land 

David 

da'vld 

Dixon 

dik'swn 

Dunbar 

dwn-bar' 

Dupplin 

dtip'lln 


176 


KEY TO PRONUNCIATION 


Edward 

Ellen 

Eric 

Ettin 

gd'werd 

mn 

er'fk 

St'tln 

Gervase 

jer'vSs 

Hartley 

Hugh 

Hurricane 

hart'll 

hu 

htir'I-kan 

Ireland 

Ir'land 

Jack 

Jerome 

Jesper 

Jock 

Julian 

jSk 

je-r5m' 

jgs'per 

jftk 

jool'ydn 

Katherine 

k&th'er-ln 

Lafayette 

Leo 

la'fa-y£t' 

le'6 

Malcolm 

March 

Merlin 

Montague 

Murray 

m&l'kwm 

march 

mdr'lin 

m6n'td-gil 

mur'I 

Nora 

no'rd 

Randolph 

Reutha 

Robert 

Roger 

Roland 

Rowland 

r&n'ddlf 

roi'td 

rbb'ert 

rbj'er 

ro'ldnd 

ro'ldnd 

Salisbury 

Scotland 

Silly 

Spens 

solz'ber-l 

sk6t'l&nd 

sU'l 

spens 

Theodosia 

Timothy 

th§'$-d5'shf-d 

tlm'5-thl 

Vernon 

vfir'nwn 

Weirds 

werdz 



(Cfre fiitoer^ibe 

CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
U . S . A 




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SUPPLEMENTARY READERS 


GRADE I 

Primer of Nursery Rhymes. By Leota Swem and Rowena 
Sherwood. 

The Hiawatha Primer. By Florence Holbrook. 

The Dutch Twins Primer. By Lucy Fitch Perkins. 

GRADE II 

The Book of Nature Myths. By Florence Holbrook. 
The Doers. By William John Hopkins. School Edition. 
The Eskimo Twins. By Lucy Fitch Perkins. Sch. Ed. 
Kittens and Cats. By Eulalie Osgood Grover. Sch. Ed. 

Opera Stories from Wagner. By Florence Akin. 

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The Book of Fables and Folk Stories. By Horace E. 

SCUDDER. 

The Dutch Twins. By Lucy Fitch Perkins. School Edition. 
Famous Old Tales. Edited by Henry Cabot Lodge. 
Little-Folk Lyrics. By Frank Dempster Sherman. School 
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Three Years with the Poets (Grades I-III). Edited by 
Bertha Hazard. 

A Book of Fairy-Tale Bears. Edited by Clifton John- 
son. School Edition. 

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The Cave Twins. By Lucy Fitch Perkins. Sch. Ed. 

The Japanese Twins. By Lucy Fitch Perkins. Sch. Ed. 
Selected Stories from the Arabian Nights. Edited by 
Samuel Eliot. 

Poetry for Children. Edited by Samuel Eliot. 

Northland Heroes. By Florence Holbrook. 

Old Ballads in Prose. By Eva March Tappan. School Edition. 
A Book of Fairy-Tale Bears. Edited by Clifton Johnson. 
School Edition. 

Little Bird Blue. By W. L. and Irene Finley. School Edition. 


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The Irish Twins. By Lucy Fitch Perkins. School Edition. 
The Mexican Twins. By Lucy Fitch Perkins. Sch. Ed. 
The Little Book of the Flag. By Eva March Tappan. 
School Edition. 

The Basket Woman. By Mary Austin. School Edition. 

The Book of Saints and Friendly Beasts. By Abbie Far- 
well Brown. School Edition. 

In the Days of Giants. By Abbie Farwell Brown. School 
Edition. 

Ballads and Lyrics. Edited by Henry Cabot Lodge. 
Sinopah, the Indian Boy. By James W. Schultz. Sch. Ed. 
Little Bird Blue. By W. L. and Irene Finley. School Edition. 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 



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